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TAKU GLACIER 



ALASKA 

The Land of Now 



By 

T>. A. NOONAN 



SEATTLE, WASH. 

1921 



/f ! \ 




\ r 



COPYRIGHT, 1921 

BY 

D. A. NOONAN 

SEATTLE, WASHINGTON. 



©CI.A622393 



CONTENTS 

Page 

ALASKA 5 

ALASKA, THE LAND OF NOW 6 

THE CALL OF THE NORTHLAND 9 

THE YUKON RIVER 12 

THE HELL OF THE YUKON 14 

ALASKA, THE DEVIL'S OWN LAND... 21 

YUKON DAYS 24 

THE HAPPIEST HOUR 26 

BIRDS OF PASSAGE 27 

THE TEST OF THE TRUE PROS- 
PECTOR 29 

"BEAR HUNTER" PETE 30 

A PROSPECTOR'S LAMENT 31 

ALASKA HOOTCH 32 

THE WAR DOG'S RETURN 39 

THE WIRELESS MAN AT KOTLIK 42 

PTARMIGAN STEW A LA MULLIGAN'S 

SQUAW 45 

THE WOODCHOPPER 49 

THE ALASKA EXCURSION 53 

ALASKA TOURIST RUBAIYAT 56 

NOVEMBER IN NOME 60 

ROMANCE ON AN ALASKA LINER 62 

THE BALLAD OF HOW LOVE CAME 

TO A CROSS-EYED COUPLE 64 

WEATHER 68 

THREE HUNDRED AND THIRTY-ONE. 70 

FOG AND SNOW 72 

SUNNY CALIFORNIA 75 

THE BALLAD OF AN ICE-BOUND 

BOAT 77 

A SAILOR LAD 90 

HARRY WEBSTER 91 



CONTENTS 

Page 

TO ROBERT SERVICE 94 

TO H. F. ALEXANDER 96 

FORMULA OF THE SUCCESS OF ANCIL 

F. HAINES 97 

TO DR. JOHN H. OUTLAND 98 

TO CAPTAIN JOHNNY O'BRIEN 100 

TO CAPTAIN O. J. NEWCOMB OF THE 

YUKON RIVER 101 

TO MYSELF 103 

MOUNT McKINLEY 20,500 FEET 104 

VOLCANOES AND WOMEN 105 

NO NAME FOR ME 106 

A SOURDOUGH EPICURE'S RETURN. . .107 

WRITTEN FOR VARIOUS DIARIES 110 

TO A MAID FROM WYOMING Ill 

TO A COUPLE FROM FLORIDA 112 

FOR A KENTUCKIAN 113 

FOR A NORTH CAROLINIAN 114 

FOR A UNIVERSITY OF WASHINGTON 

STUDENT 115 

TO THE ALASKA BUREAU OF PUB- 
LICITY 116 

MEMORIES 117 

IN THE WORDS OF JOSHUA ALEX- 
ANDER, SECRETARY OF THE 

INTERIOR 1 18 

THE BALLAD OF JERRY FLYNN 119 

STATEHOOD FOR ALASKA 125 

WHEN ALASKA'S STAR IS SET AMONG 
THE STARS THAT DECK THE FLAG. 127 

O ! STAR OF ALASKA 130 

APPRECIATION 132 

GLOSSARY 134 



To The Mariners 

of the North Pacific and Alaskan Waters, 

"Those bays where rocks and reefs abound," 

and to 

The River Steamboat Men 

of the Great Yukon, 

"With it's sand-bars and it's flats," 

these rhymes are affectionately dedicated. 

As one of their number I have sailed these 
seas at all seasons of the year and have put my 
time in on the Great River. At all times was I 
impressed with their zeal, their watchfulness and 
their solicitude for the care and safety of the pas- 
sengers whose business or journeyings took them 
into these dangerous waters. Knowing, then, 
their anxiety, and how at times they become 
depressed by the weight of their responsibility, 
I will deem the moments of compiling these 
verses well spent if they bring one smile, or 
lighten by one ounce the load of care and worry 
of these hardy men during the tense moments 
of the dog-watches of their long night vigils, in 
fog and snow, in rain and foul weather. 

Some day a beneficent and appreciative govern- 
ment may see fit to reward their services by es- 
tablishing the oft requested increase to the aids 
to navigation which these waters so much need, 
and which would make the lives of these brave 
men less a hardship and a hazzard. 



PREFACE 

The DOUGLAS NEWS has described "Alaska 
poetry" by the pithy word "rotten." This is a 
pretty strong word, but the News has probably 
had reasons to feel strongly. Most Alaska news- 
papers have had the same reason. If only the 
seriously minded rhymsters of the Territory 
could be made to remember that there is hardly 
one poet to every million people, they could 
hardly hope to find one in a population of scarce- 
ly forty thousand, except by a miracle. But, then, 
this should not stop verse making of the lighter 
and less serious kind.— ALASKA REVIEW. 



ALASKA 

Alaska 'tis of thee, 
Bleak Land of Misery, 

Of thee I sing : 
Land where men's souls are tried, 
Land where I almost died, 
I'm glad I'm now "Outside," 

Far from thy sting! 

barren country, thee, 
Land of Iniquity, 

Where false is true : 
Let miners muck and slave, 
Let foolish tourists rave, 
Let preachers try to save, 

I'm through with you! 



ALASKA, THE LAND OF NOW 

There's a land that's prime and ready 

For men of brain and brawn ; 
There's a land that's lying dormant in the North. 

It's a land of Peace and Plenty, 

And it's waiting for the dawn 
When men may see the treasures it holds forth! 

It's a land that holds you, gripping, 

With its mystery and its spell — 
You curse it and you bless it in a breath ! 

But you love it, yes you love it, 

When once you understand its laws ; 
For it's an off-shoot of the great Big Russian 
Bear, 

And you must ever, always watch it — 
IT HAS CLAWS! 



It's a Land of Opportunity, 

It's the beaming Land of Now ! 
Where the sun is ever smiling on the strong! 

Its valleys rich and fertile 

Lying fallow to the plow; 
The riches of its mountains only waiting for the 
throng ! 



6 



ALASKA, THE LAND OF NOW 

Day by day it's getting peopled 

With a virile, sturdy race ; 
I have visions of cities yet unborn ! 

Oh! it's wondrous and it's beautiful, 

It beckons and it draws ! 
It's an off-shoot of the Great Big Russian Bear; 

And you must ever, always watch it — 
IT HAS CLAW 8! 

Two mighty oceans lave it; 

Dizzy mountain ranges stave it, 
Pearly peaks that climb to Heaven's rim ! 

It's as big as all creation ; 

God surely meant it for a nation, 
This Land that's filled with treasures to the brim ! 

Its exhaustless mines and forests, 

Its tons and tons of gold ; 
You could never count their measure were it told ! 

But it is not a land for weaklings, 

With their effeminated flaws ; 
It's an off-shoot of the Great Big Russian Bear, 

And you must ever, always watch it — 

IT HAS CLAWS! 



It's a wonderland of splendor, 

With Uncle Sam as the defender; 
Where every man's a freeman and a king ! 

Though the winter's bleak and bitter 

And the blizzards have a sting, 
Yet there's lots of comfort by your little Yukon 
stove, 



ALASKA, THE LAND OF NOW 



If you've laid away your nuggets 
When the weather's mild above ! 
You're cabin's then a castle, you're old arm chair 
a throne ; 
Alaska then has "got you" 
And claimed you for its own ! 
All the hardships conquered, the freeze-ups and 
the thaws; 
But in November, 
Oh, then remember 
It's an off-shoot of the Great Big Russian Bear; 
And you must ever, always watch it — 
IT HAS CLAWS! 



8 



,L OF THE NORTHLAND 

re imprisoned in gilded, ribboned 

npered by attendants, knowing 
ant nor care, 
of freedom that in every creature 

test their wings again, untram- 
the air; 

nia, famed Land of Fruits and 

b spread abundance with a reck- 

h hand, 

nee listless and over-long the 

er for Alaska and the Wilds of 
land. 

m over, making trails that need 

r 

taks that scrape the sky, defying 

nds that blow, 

D and sparkling, the snow-light 

dng, 

packed and ready, the dogs alert 



ALASKA, THE LAND 



If you've laid away your nug 
When the weather's mild abo\ 
You're cabin's then a castle, you 
a throne ; 
Alaska then has "got you" 
And claimed you for its own ! 
All the hardships conquered, th 
the thaws; 
But in November, 
Oh, then remember 
It's an off-shoot of the Great B: 
And you must ever, always v 
IT HAS CLAWS 



H 



THE CALL OF THE NORTHLAND 

As birds that are imprisoned in gilded, ribboned 
cages, 
Fed and pampered by attendants, knowing 
neither want nor care, 
Yet feel the call of freedom that in every creature 
rages, 
And long to test their wings again, untram- 
meled, in the air; 

So I in California, famed Land of Fruits and 
Flowers, 
Where Nature spread abundance with a reck- 
less, lavish hand, 
Yet find existence listless and over-long the 
hours. 
While I hunger for Alaska and the Wilds of 
the Northland. 

The rivers frozen over, making trails that need 
no blazing, 
The jagged peaks that scrape the sky, defying 
all the winds that blow, 
The air so crisp and sparkling, the snow-light 
that is dazing, 
The sledge all packed and ready, the dogs alert 
to go! 



THE CALL OF THE NORTHLAND 



And over all the Northern Lights in golden fes- 
toons stealing, 
And a Call is whispered, whispered from the 
Northwind's silver wings. 
Till deep within my being I can hear an echo 
pealing 
For the glories of Alaska, and they pull on my 
heart-strings. 

Oh ! not for me the Summerland, one's strength 
and senses robbing, 
Where men may drowse in indolence with 
drugged, unworried minds, 
Full brother to the Norsemen, I feel my pulses 
throbbing, 
With the red blood at fever heat for a bout with 
Arctic winds. 



Blow, O Winds ! and smash, O Sea, on a shore 
that's bleak and endless, 
Years will pass and centuries roll before its 
worth is known, 
But I'd rather far be trailing o'er its snow- 
drifts, lone and friendless, 
Than be coddled in the Southland where my 
soul is not my own. 

Alaska ! Oh ! it's wonderful, the leagues and 
leagues so mute, 
The Midnight Sun ashining on hills and dales 
unknown, 



10 



THE CALL OF THE NORTHLAND 



Winter the only Tyrant, and impartial is his 
tribute 
On man and beast and living thing that swear 
allegiance to his throne. 

"Mush !" — and the dogs race headlong, in the 
teeth of the blizzard spinning, 
The pace, the strain of battling with the ele- 
ments to the goal ! 
Oh! days well worth the living! The struggle 
worth the winning ! 
The Hand that rules the Northland has the 
ruling of my soul ! 



11 



THE YUKON RIVER 

Oh the years I spent adrifting along the Yukon 
River, 
That slips along capriciously to lonesome Arc- 
tic seas, 
The dreams of youth adreaming of El Dorado 
waiting, 
And the Yukon the broad highway of my 
golden argosies ! 

At each twist of river turning I'd start a fire 
burning 
Where I slept beneath the magic of the North- 
ern sky, 
And each camp-fire's smoke ascending marked a 
day-dream's ending, 
While the River seemed to chuckle at my sigh. 

Oh the dreams that came and vanished, like haze 
upon the River, 
Like the Lights that filled the heavens with the 
Glories of God's Throne, 
Northern Lights, which like the River, just as 
ruthless, just as fickle, 
With a flash would miles of sky alight and then 
as quickly gone! 



12 



THE YUKON RIVER 

And that River, restless ever, I knew each swirl 
and eddy, 
Those endless days of summer when I'd drift 
along its breast. 
Though now my feet are fettered, my wings of 
venture clipped, 
Old Age finds me sheltered by those years of 
patient quest. 

I am ever dreaming, dreaming, I would yet be 
on the River; 
Must I spend my days in cities when the Yukon 
ripples call? 
When the River may take others where the 
glories shine and quiver, 
Must I be strangled in the crowd or be a citv 
thrall? J 

I am dreaming, I am dreaming. Again I'm on 
the River. 

Questing new bonanzas, and my blood is all 
ablaze 
With a fever that's unquenchable except by find- 
ing treasure; 

I'm afraid that I'll be questing it and dreaming 
all my days ! 



13 



♦Columbus, Ohio, May 11. — The Valley of Ten Thousand 
Smokes near Kodiak, Alaska, will see no more of its dis- 
coverer, Robert P. Griggs, Professor of Botany, Ohio State 
University. Prof. Griggs, who describes the Valley as 
"hell, seething hell, with the lid off," says five trips to 
this desolate country atop the earth are enough and that 
he is "fed up on it." During the coming summer Prof. 
Griggs expects to complete his book describing this val- 
ley of mystery and the eruption of Mt. Katmai nearby. 
— News Item. 



*THE HELL OF THE YUKON 

'Twas ages ago, in the morning of Time, 

That God made Alaska and forgot the sunshine, 

Then to make amends for this oversight, 

After six months of darkness He made six months 

of light. 
But during the darkness the place got so chilled 
That the fruit trees and song-birds were all frozen 

and killed, 
And the mammoth and mastodon and harmless 

monk 
Were replaced by the malamute, lynx-cat and 

skunk. 

About this time, as we are told in the Bible, 
Lucifer was expelled from Heaven for libel. 
He envied the Lord and wanted to rule 
Over all Creation, with Earth as a footstool. 
But he failed in his plan on the Lord's throne to 
sit 



14 



*THE HELL OF THE YUKON 

And was cast into exile in a Bottomless Pit; 
A place called Hell, filled with fearful horrors, 
Anguish and woe, waitings and sorrows, 
Where he and his imps in brimstone could revel. 
Thus a rebellious Archangel became the Devil ! 

Here in Hell the Devil held sway 

Over millions of imps, and prepared for the fray. 

The Incarnate of Evil, it was now his part 

To drive out the Good and put Bad in man's 

heart. 
But though he was supreme in the Councils of 

Hell, 
The place was a prison, and the Devil knew well 
That it was made, and owned by the Lord, 
As a place of punishment for the sinful horde 
Who yeilded to the temptings and evil guile 
Which the Devil practiced in every style ; 
For men are such foolish and gullible things, 
Workmen, idlers, plebes or kings. 

So for ages and ages the Devil remained 
In the depths of Hell, and never complained. 
But all the while he plotted and schemed 
To get a Hell of his own for the unredeemed, 
Where he could make better use of the coal 
That was required to burn a sin-scarred soul ; 
For he thought it a shame and a needless waste 
To burn up a soul without freezing it first ! 
Besides, in his New Hell, it was his intention 
To torment the poor sinner by his own new in- 
vention, 



15 



*THE HELL OF THE YUKON 

For which, besides raw brimstone and oil, 

He needed some minerals, hootch and soil. 

» 

So he asked the Lord if He had any land 
In a cooler clime, that a poor Devil could stand. 
The Lord said "Yes, but it's not of much use, 
It's a place called Alaska and it's as cold as the 

deuce. 
In fact, old boy, the country is so bare 
That I don't think you can make a good Hell up 

there!" 
But the Devil said : "I don't know why, 
I sure know my job and I'd like to try. 
Just send me up there and put me to work 
And I'll soon make this Hell look like a joke!" 
So a bargain was made and the Lord rang a bell 
For St. Michael to release the devil from Hell. 

We next meet the Devil far up in the North, 

Exploring Alaska to judge of its worth. 

From the top of McKinley he viewed the vast 

waste, 
And said, "I'll be damned if Hell ain't disgraced !" 
For it was bleak and barren clean up to the Arctic, 
And the Devil gloated at the Hell to be started. 
Oh ! it was fine to be out in the cold, 
And though the wind blew a gale, the devil grew 

bold, 
And there on the top of the mountain he planned 
To make of Alaska the Home of the Damned ! 
A place somewhat different from the old- 
fashioned Hell, 



16 



*THE HELL OF THE YUKON 



Where each soul burned in a brimstone cell. 
And as he knew all the arts that a wise Devil 

needed 
To make a good Hell, you bet he succeeded ! 



He plowed the Valley of Ten Thousand Smokes, 

Where Hell's steam sizzles and sears and chokes. 

He filled the air with millions of gnats, 

Spread the Yukon River over the Flats, 

Set a line of volcanoes near Unimak Pass, 

Bred mosquitoes in tundra grass, 

Kept the six months night when it's sixty below, 

A driving wind and a blinding snow, 

The six months day, with a spell now and then, 

Too hot for the Devil, though fresh from his pen ! 

He loosed the wolves to ravage the land, 

A worthless set and a ruthless band, 

That crossed with the dogs makes a savage pack 

With a gouhlish howl that sends chills up your 

back. 
But of all the pests that the Imp could devise, 
The Yukon mosquito is the Devil's prize ; 
It has the rattle-snake's bite and the scorpion's 

sting 
And preys on every living, breathing thing. 
The Devil said, when he fashioned these, 
"Each one will bite worse than a million fleas !" 

And then over mountain and valley and plain, 
Where the night dew falls and there's plenty of 
rain, 



17 



*THE HELL OF THE YUKON 



He scattered wild flowers, just for a bluff — 
Old Nick surely knew how to mingle his stuff ! 
Then to show how well he knew his game, 
Satan next salted his New Hell Claim ! 
He put gold nuggets in all the streams, 
To lure men on in foolish dreams. 
He hid gold deep under glacial ice, 
Threw some at grass roots, like bait for mice. 
Then he bid Dame Rumor to spread the news 
To all the world and its motley crews, 
That here was gold in piles and piles, 
In all the colors and all the styles. 
Then he grinned a grim, sardonic grin, 
And said : "Now watch the fools rush in. 
They'll fight for gold and steal and slay, 
But in the end it's me they'll pay!" 

The fools rushed in ; a break-neck mass 
That filled every trail and mountain pass. 
They did not wait to choose a boat, 
But rode any old hulk that would keep afloat. 
They rushed to Dawson in 'Ninety-Eight, 
When the devil made Skagway his main hell-gate, 
And taught "Soapy" Smith and his outlaw gang 
How to shoot and plunder and loot and hang! 
They followed to Nome in 'Ninety-Nine, 
And later to Fairbanks, (what a golden line !) 
Iditerod, Ruby, and still they come, 
Ranchers, lawyers, theives, the scum ! 
They ravished the creeks and raped the hills, 
And with the gold they looted went the pace 
that kills, 



18 



*THE HELL OF THE YUKON 



In all the dance-halls, bars and dives, 

That were as thick in the towns as bees in their 

hives. 
They claim-jumped and killed and knew no law; 
Such a Hell cut loose the world never saw ! 
And the Devil watched with grim satisfaction 
The spite and spleen of each clique and faction. 



Oh ! a fine land this that the Devil owns, 
Its claims are staked with good men's bones ; 
Its graves are filled with deserted squaws 
That in vain beseeched the white man's laws ; 
Its rivers all run to Arctic seas, 
Vast, desolate wastes and mysteries ; 
Its trails all lead to Kingdom Come, 
Each outpost reeking with poisoned rum. 
As you travel over the barren expanse, 
The North Wind blows the Devil's vengeance. 
The Northern Lights are hell-fire's glare; 
That mock and deride your coming there ! 
And men are crazed by the impish tunes 
In the frosted air, where the Devil croons ! 



They say the Northland casts a spell — 
It surely does, but it's the spell of Hell! 
There are some kinds of sinning that have a grasp 
That hold men fast in a vice-like clasp. 
Some there are here, and good men, too, 
Whose deeds are honest and hearts are true, 
But they are here at the Lord's behest, 
To save what they can of all the rest, 



19 



*THE HELL OF THE YUKON 



That come at the Call of the Wild and Gold, 
That lures alike the young and old. 
But the Devil is wise and will craftily wait, 
His snares he'll set and his traps he'll bait — 
And sooner or later all those who stay 
In this land of his will have to pay! 

The wild winds moan o'er this cursed land 
That the Devil has tarred with his seal and brand ! 
The Northern Lights shine clear and bright 
To show his fiends each soul's sad plight! 
Oh ! the Devil was wise and selected well, 
It's a hell of a place he has for his Hell ! 



So now you know, if anyone ask you 
What kind of a land is Our Alaska ! 



20 



ALASKA, THE DEVIL'S OWN LAND 

A reply to Robert Service's "Spell of the Yukon. 3 

"There's gold in the great land up yonder?" 

There is, and there it can stay; 
If you are trying to get me to wander 

To Alaska again, I say "Nay!" 
There is more in this world than lucre, 

And happiness cannot be bought; 

I M S ,i_ f ° Und where the flow ers and fruits are 
Where song-birds and honey-bees sport. 

I lived in a far Eastern city, 

Where life ran along like a song, 
But I wearied of the same dull ditty 

And yearned for the strenuous and strong 
I longed to get out in the open, 

So took Greeley's advice and came West, 
And, at news of the gold strike near Dawson, 

I went North to get rich like the rest. 

I tried to look on with favor, 

And sense the worth of this Land 
But there's little I found that would save her 

trom being called "The Home of the Damned '" 



21 



ALASKA, THE DEVIL'S OWN LAND 



I found only sorrow and trouble, 
I knew only hardship and pain, 

I heard only the curses and grumble 
Of men crazed with gold-lust and gain! 

I drifted along the great Yukon 

In a pine-wood cheechako boat, 
Subsisting on damn meagre rations 

While coaxing the cheese-box to float. 
I forced my way through the Rapids, 

Felt the fear of the ice-jam and pack, 
That comes with the thundering racket 

Of the ice smashing down in your track ! 

And wet and chilled to the marrow, 

I camped on the bank for the night, 
With hardly the strength of a sparrow, 

Not a mouthful of grub in sight, 
I stood in some dizzy high places, 

Where no man had e're stood before, 
And as I gazed on the stark naked spaces, 

I wondered what God made them for! 



The seasons are but two in number; 

And the devil's own seasons they are, 
From the long endless days of summer, 

To the dull winter nights black as tar. 
The rivers run untamed and ruthless, 

The valleys vast graveyards of despair, 
The mountains so barren and useless, . 

The coast where no harbor lights flare ! 



22 



i 



ALASKA, THE DEVIL'S OWN LAND 



The summer ! it rains like a sinner, 

The streams flood every valley and pass ; 
The mosquitoes ahunt for their dinner, 

The tundra a sinking morass ! 
Of course there are spells that are cheerful, 

It seems that one could live with content — 
But Lord, the long days are fearful, 

As you get hungry and restless and spent! 

The winter! it is most terrifying, 

Though some boast the climate as mild; 
But I think such people are lying, 

Or crazed by the raw, frozen wild. 
The cold air like acid, you can't breathe it, 

The snow-shroud like death does appall, 
The strong, mad desire to leave it — 

God ! I grew sick of it all ! 

"There's gold — " Oh, yes, I have been there, 

But I don't want to go there again. 
Though there's many a fortune to win there, 

Life is too short for the strain ! 
It's a barren desert of sorrows, 

It's a land where no white man should dwell, 
It's a land that chills with its horrors, 

The Devil's Own Land — it is Hell ! 



23 



YUKON DAYS 

Come, my partner, oh my partner, to the little 
river brink ! 
To the little river brink beyond the hill ! 
And we'll talk of days together, of summer heat 
and wintry weather; 
Oh, the memory of those days is with me still ! 

Come, my partner, oh my partner, for a hike 
across the tundra ! 
Across the tundra buried under drifts of snow ! 
And we'll live again those far-away days, before 
we ere "struck-pay" days, , 
Of whose hardships only you and I will ever 
know! 

Come, my partner, oh my partner, let us pack-in 
o'er the trail ! 
O'er the trail we mushed and blazed in 'Ninety- 
eight ! 
Oh, I know each crag and boulder, and though the 
rheum is in my shoulder, 
I still can do my portion and shoot straight! 

Oh, those days were long and poignant, but each 
hour it's joyful moment, 



24 



YUKON DAYS 



And our hope was ever balm to sooth our pain ! 
Oh, the clean breath of the forests, the stillness 

so profound! 
Oh, partner, those days will never come to us 

again ! 

Oh, the fever caught us, brought us to a land of 
golden dreams! 
Let us pan once more its golden sands ! 
It Was not the gold we wanted, though we fought 
the Wild and found it; 
And squandered it when it was in our hands ! 

Oh, my partner, I am calling; my years are 
ripened, falling; 
I am ready now to stake another claim ! 
And I want to meet you, partner, when I trail 
across the Border, 
In answer when the Great Recorder calls my 
name! 



25 



THE HAPPIEST HOUR 

In the Far Bourne from which no travellers re- 
turn, 
There is a section set apart for the venturesome, 
who turn 
And wander off the straight and narrow trail. 
High o'er its portals the legend doth appear : 
"All Hope Abandon All Ye That Enter Here." 
So at every gateway to Alaska I would nail 
A warning sign, that all who hither venture might 

be told: 
"All That Glitters In Alaska Is Not Gold." 

A pilgrimage begun in zest and highest hopes, 
Encountietrs trials and tribulation, doubts and 

fears, 
And oftimes ends in mad despair and bitter tears ; 
So soon doth disillusion come amid these barren 

slopes ! 
They who linger longest here know most of woe, 
For the fortunate, who strike it rich, are quick 
to go. 
And even for those for whom Alaska's bounty 

doth provide, 
The happiest hour is when at last they go 
Outside! 



26 



BIRDS OF PASSAGE 

(Before winging North) 

To the cafes and the vaudeville shows. 

The clinking glass and the song; 
To the billiard hall and the fancy ball, 

And the crowd that surges along, 
We say "Good-Bye!" 
With naught of sorrow or sadness, 

But hearts that are gay and free, 
For we're going to Alaska 

To work in mine and fishery ! 

So to Market Street and Fillmore, 

To Powell and Eddy, too; 
To Union Square and Kearney, 

And the Mission, even to you, 

We say "Au Revoir!" 
We hate the hustle and hurry, 

The glare of your luring lights, 
And we're yearning for the Northland, 

And those peaceful Yukon nights ! 



27 



BIRDS OF PASSAGE 

(After the season on the Yukon. 
Before flying South) 

To the salmon we've left uneaten, 

And the hash we've pushed aside; 
To the malamutes so noisy, 

And the squaws we can't abide, 

We say "Adios Amigos !" 
Without a trace of anger, 

Or shadow of regret, 
We fain would not remember, 

But we're afraid we can't forget! 

To the Yukon and it's valleys, 

It's sand-bars and it's flats; 
It's wood-yards and it's fish-camps, 

It's mosquitoes and it's gnats, 

We say "Pee-O-Quah !" 
We feel no pain at parting, 

As does the sour-dough, 
The Southland now is calling, 

Oh! You San Francisco! 



28 



THE TEST OF THE TRUE PROSPECTOR 

The test of the man who would prospect the hills 

Is how far will he go for the gold, 
Will he famish and thirst and suffer fierce ills, 

and moil in the merciless cold? 
There are many to stampede when a Bonanza is 
found 

And deeds to rich claims to be filed 
But it calls for a heart that it steadfast and sound 

To battle alone with the Wild. 

It doesn't quite follow when you strike it rich 

That you possess courage and pluck, 
A coward may chance to fall in a ditch 

And strike pay with a stroke of good luck. 
But the test of the heart that is daring and stout 

The test of endurance and grit, 
Is how do you act when your claim peters out 

And disappointment tempts you to quit! 

It's the way that you stay when fate deals a hand 

That ends a new dream, a fresh hope, 
That proves if you're made of iron and sand 

And which how much sorrow you'll cope. 
For the paystreak is nothing when measured as 
pelf, 

To one who bears the griefs of the quest. 
It's the joy at the finding of both the gold — and 
one's self! 

To have battled, to have won — that's the test! 



29 



"BEAR HUNTER" PETE 

"If you were swinging up the trail 
And a bear came tripping down, 
Unknowingly, some summer day, 

A grizzly, black, or brown, 
With nothing left you but to meet, 
What greeting would you give him, Pete, 
Shoot, or make a quick retreat!" 

Said Pete, "If I were swinging up the trail 
And a bear came tripping down — 

Why, pouf ! like that, I'd shoot the beast, 
Be it grizzly, black, or brown ! 

I'd like to see the burly bear 

That would ever make me turn a hair, 

Yet alone give me a scare !" 

Pete swings slowly up the trail, 
A B-E-A-R comes tripping down, 

"Give him a welcome, Pete, old boy, 
Send a shot right through his crown !" 

But Pete has dropped his trusty gun. 

Lord! how he can jump and run! 

Never did Bruin have such fun! 



30 



A PROSPECTOR'S LAMENT 

The lone prospector's face is sad, 

And as the trail he mushes o'er, 
He says, "My Lord! the country's dead; 

It never was so dead before. 
I always said it would fall flat 

When once the Guggies gained control ; 
And now, by the Great Jehosephat, 

They own the country's very soul." 

And as he piped this little say, 

He stooped to the creek to get a drink, 
And right before his eyes there lay 

A four-ounce nugget at the brink. 
"Good Lord ! he cried, I've struck it rich ! 

I knew I'd strike it so sometime !" 
And straightway did he stake the ditch — 

To sell to Simon Guggenheim ! 



31 



ALASKA HOOTCH 

(All names in capital letters are names of Alaska 
towns, rivers, districts, etc.) 

HOMER sang of the Trojan war, 

And of Helen, whom the Greeks fought for. 

But I sing of HOOTCH, in a land and clime 

As distant in MILES as Homer in Time. 

"Arms and the man" was Virgil's song, 

And his heroes were god-like, sturdy and strong; 

Men who could tipple both day and night, 

Without impairing their powers to fight : 

Like TANTALUS, who was condemned to he 

sunk 
Up to his neck in liquid that couldn't be drunk. 
All through history we find it the same, 
Each Age and People according acclaim 
To some kind of liquor extracted from grain, 
Or the fruits and berries of mountain and plain. 
Wine or whiskey, any name that you choose, 
Roughly speaking, it's commonly called "booze." 
But up in Alaska "HOOTCH" is the name 
Applied to all liquor containing red flame. 

Now in olden days, when SOLOMON held sway, 

Hootch was made in the natural way. 

They heeded his COUNCIL and distilled the stuff 



32 



ALASKA HOOTCH 

From the proper ingredients, without any 

BLUFF. 
Graft was unknown and the Hootch was kept 

pure, 
And though the drinkers were many, the mixtures 

were fewer. 
But in modern days they make hootch with dope 
That drives a man crazy and murders all HOPE. 
They call upon Science to thwart Nature's ART, 
Whose process is slow, taking years to impart 
That mellow bouquet that is found in good wine, 
That kindles the feelings like golden sunshine. 
This modern hootch, that is made in a day, 
Is what we find in Alaska — and there's hell to 

pay! 

ALASKA HOOTCH! Oh! the ugly sight of it! 

The rankor, the hate, the blight of it! 
Filling the heart with a vicious desire, 
Setting the blood and brain on fire! 

What so burns as the heat of it? 

The wicked, lustful cheat of it! 

And what so cruel as the stern demand 
On soul and brain and heart and hand? 

We drink it at night till the CANDLE burns low, 

And at SUNRISE our heads are with fever 
aglow ! 



A FIVE-FINGER drink of this Alaska Hootch 
Will make a man dance the hootchey-cootch ; 
A second one will make him see 



33 



ALASKA HOOTCH 

A WHITE HORSE climb a cedar tree; 

At the third he'll see a polar bear 

CIRCLE with an EAGLE in the air; 

If ST. MICHAEL himself were a drinking man, 

He'd run FORTY-MILE to KETCHIKAN, 

After a drink of this villianous hootch 

That crazes alike squaw-man and klootch. 

Arriving there in the KNIK of time, 

He'd treat the boys of TREADWELL MINE; 

Another drink and his pants he'd toss 

High upon the HOLY CROSS; 

For a RUBY he'd sell the RUSSIAN MISSION, 

Then pawn the gem and go a fishing ; 

And on the FAIRBANKS of the TANANA 

He'd start a fish-camp with a squaw. 

Soon saint and squaw beneath the BIRCHES 

Would give up all thought of the churches, 

Though from the highest RAMPART near KOK- 

RINES 
They could hear the tones of BETHEL chimes, 
As they floated over from the KUSKOQUIM, 
Where the hootch is vile and the squaws are slim. 
And when ST. MICHAEL had made the rounds 
Of all the YUKON camps and towns. 
It would take all the soldiers at FORT GIBBON 
To carry the good saint back to heaven ; 
For he would have a hilarious jag 
Before ever he'd put a COLDFOOT in KAL- 

TAG. 



34 



ALASKA HOOTCH 

ALASKA HOOTCH ! Oh, the wasteful side of 
it! 

The staggering, sweeping tide of it! 

Dragging men down in its furious flood, 
Rotting the arteries, tainting the blood ! 

Eating the vitals out of our men, 

Wrecking their lives again and again ! 
Pulling the prospector back from his goal, 
Wasting his strength, damning his soul ! 

Increasing the weight of the heavy pack, 

Holding the sledge and the willing dogs back ! 
What so bad as the drain of it? 
What so sad as the stain of it? 

And what so drags us to the brink 

Of mad despair, as a drink, a drink, another drink ? 

In song and story is CORDOVA a name 

To conjure up visions of castles in Spain, 

And of Amontillado, a vintage supreme 

Since the days of NIZINA, the Moorish queen. 

But of Cordova, Alaska, the only renown 

Is that it's a hide-bound Guggenheim town. 

The hootch they sell there is musty and vile, 

No matter what mixture, brand or style. 

It tastes like varnish and sticks like schellac, 

And has the aroma of a siwash shack. 

Out in VALDEZ, where the winters are hard, 

And they have a glacier in every back-yard, 

The hootch flows freely as a mountain stream 

And produces a sleep wherein you dream 

Of snakes, and worms and slimy things, 

And goblins and devils with icy wings. 



35 



ALASKA HOOTCH 



There is no bar at dreary LA TOUCHE, 
But that doesn't imply any lack of hootch; 
They there take the tailings of the BEATSON 

MINE 
And mix them with snow-water slaked in lime. 
The result is a blend that is weak and mild 
For a place so bleak and waste and wild ! 
But the vilest hootch that the imps compound, 
At DOUGLAS, JUNEAU and THANE is found. 
They sell it there in gallon jugs 
That turns good miners into thugs, 
Who WRANGEL over some word or deed 
To which sober men would pay faint heed. 
For in this Land that is known as SEWARD'S 

FOLLY, 
Hootch is the curse of each hill and valley. 
It follows and follows on every stampede, 
The first on the ground and the last to leave. 

HOOTCH ! the demon that lurks on the trail, 
Causing the musher to falter and fail ! 

How tempting a drink to warm up the blood ! 
"Aha!" says the demon, "how good, how 
good!" 
Another, another; faster, faster; 
Then the sharp, sudden, tragic disaster! 
"Lost in a blizzard," "Found frozen stiff," 
"Fell through a crevasse," "Swamped in a 
skiff," 
Thus the report that follows each inquest, 
When in truth it was HOOTCH that had made a 
conquest ! 

36 



ALASKA HOOTCH 



ALASKA HOOTCH! Oh! the curse of it! 

What in this Land is worse than it? 
What so cursed as the greed for gold 
Can be found in the camp where Hootch is sold? 

Hootch, the Demon ! Hootch, the Fiend ! 

That mocks and derides the wrecks it has 
gleaned ! 

Now old sourdoughs like McQUESTON and 

HAINES, 
Can tell how it scourges and kills and maims, 
The men who are foolish enough to fight 
Alaska Hootch 'neath the Northern Light. 
So leave it alone, O Cheechako bold, 
Who ventures into this Land of Gold; 
Or vou'll leave your bones beneath the sod 
Of ANVIK or OPHIR or IDITEROD, 
Or some desolate spot between DAWSON or 

NOME, 
Thousands of miles from your former home! 
Or worse fate still, you'll go Outside, under guard, 
To spend your last days in a madhouse yard ! 

ALASKA HOOTCH! Oh, the shame of it! 
The lawless, debasing game of it! 
Boot-legging, pandering, murder and crime, 
Every foul deed can be traced to its grime! 
When, may I ask, are we going to be done with 

it? 
When, may I ask, are we going to have none of 
it? 



37 



ALASKA HOOTCH 



Not till then will we have an ANCHORAGE, 

Safe from the blighting heritage 

Of Alaska Hootch and the kindred scum 
Of whiskey, brandy, gin and rum! 

Not till then will we know our Land's worth, 

Not till then will we be proud of the North! 



38 



THE WAR-DOG'S RETURN 

"We're back in the glaring Arctic, 

Where white-winged blizzards blow — 
From the poppy fields of Flanders 

To the Land of Ice and Snow. 
How I hated the heat of war-torn France! 

How I yearned for my kennel in Nome! 
Men call this the Outcast, Leper Land — 

But us dogs, we call it home ! 

"When war broke out in Europe 

They drafted us malamutes — 
Men call us wild-eyed wolf-hounds, 

But they're the savage brutes ! 
'War-dogs,' they said, and snickered, 

And packed us off on a boat, 
Then we sailed away to the Southland — 

Good Lord! that got my goat! 

"Us dogs that were reared in the Arctic, 

With the Call of the North in our veins, 
Shipped away to a sunny clime 

To take part in bloody campaigns ! 
I was taught to obey my master, 

I was lead-dog when still a cub, 
But one's will is never full broken 

When obedience is taught with a club ! 



39 



THE WAR-DOG'S RETURN 



"So at sight of the ship I was frightened, 

I wanted to turn tail and run; 
But more than the blast of the whistle 

I feared the butt end of a gun! 
And so 'twas 'good-bye' to the Northland, 

'Good-bye' to the Candle Trail, 
My heart was so sick, I tell you, man, 

There wasn't a wag in my tail. 

"For days and days we travelled, 

By ship, by train and by bus, 
We howled when the steamboat whistled, 

And every howl was a cuss. 
At last we landed in Europe, 

Fowl shambles of human gore, 
Where they rushed us off to the trenches 

And made us 'Dogs-of-War !' 

"It wasn't all 'Mush' and 'Kow-kow,' 

That scrapping over there, 
There were times I thought I was done for, 

There were times when I didn't care! 
They'd send us out to the wounded 

With a canteen strapped to our back — 
God ! how those dough-boys suffered, 

I've seen hundreds double and crack! 

"I often dreamed of the Northland, 

And wished before I died, 
I could run one more race to Candle, 

Or rove over the tundra wide. 



40 



THE WAR-DOG'S RETURN 

And oh ! for a feathered ptarmigan, 

The hunt for a living thing, 
Instead of this search by the rockets' glare 

For the dead from a bullet's sting! 

"It's queer how history happens, 

At last we finished the scrap, 
And back we came to Alaska, 

To our luxurious Homeland's lap. 
And when they landed us on the beach 

When we arrived at Nome, 
You bet I gave a howl of joy, 

Hoping never again to roam ! 

"And in the crowd that lined the shore 

To welcome us dogs, all hale, 
I spied old Scotty Allen, my master, 

King of the Northern Trail. 
And soon Scotty spied me too, 

And I heard his voice, deep bass, 
Yell, "Sandy, here's Mac, our leader, 

Now we'll win the Sweepstakes Race!" 

"And so Scotty and I together 

Are back on the Candle Trail, 
In the drifting snows of Sawtooth Range, 

Carrying our Uncle's mail ! 
Oh, the sunny South may be alright 

For poodle dogs and such, 
But let other breeds be dogs-of-war, 

Just let me stay here and 'Mush !' " 



41 



THE WIRELESS MAN AT KOTLIK 

(Near the Mouth of the Yukon River) 



« 



I am stationed out here on the marge 

Of desolate Bering Sea, 
Awaiting my time of discharge 

With oaths of profanity. 
The birds and the beasts are free, 

They travel and migrate at will, 
But I joined Democracy's army — 

And now I am paying the bill !" 

"O Silence! If golden thou art 

Then Wealth circles me everywhere, 
If I could trade thee in the mart 

Then I'd be a billionaire! 
No need to prospect the creeks, 

I'll gather the hush by the spoons, 
And then I'll idle for weeks 

And blow it in bubble balloons!" 



"There's nothing here I can see, 
Just tundra and frozen mud, 

Icicles draped on a tree, 

Brought down by the Yukon's flood. 

I welcome, thrice welcome, the cold, 



42 



THE WIRELESS MAN AT KOTLIK 



For the flames of my roaring fire 
Picture me lands where my silence's gold 
Will purchase my every desire ! 



"Out here at the end of the world 

I wonder how long I'll last? 
I, that carried the Flag unfurled 

Clear through the Argonne's blast! 
I'd sooner be fighting the Hun, 

Taking my chance in a trench, 
Than be in the Land of the Midnight Sun 

At ease on a wireless' bench." 



"As I relay a message to Nome, 

My idle hands fiddle the key, 
It may just as well never have come 

For all that it means to me. 
An Eskimo passes my hut, 

Both he and his dogs rejoice, 
I answer his siwash salute — 

I start at the sound of my voice!" 

"I go inside to delve in a book, 

One that Noah had in the ark, 
The pages blur at my look 

The North has seared me with its mark! 
Oh Lord, when I again get Outside 

I'll attend to my P's and Q's, 
I'll then go to church every day, 

I'll callous my knees on the pews." 



43 



THE WIRELESS MAN AT KOTLIK 



"The Birds and the Beasts are free, 

The snows and the winds cavort, 
The moon and the stars mock down at me 

Locked in this ice-bound port, 
The Northern Lights flare up, 

They nicker, and blaze and die! 
As I sit and sip my lonely cup, — 

Hark, the roving wolf-packs' cry !" 

"O solitude ! where is thy grace 

That hermits thy haunts should seek 
Out in the deserts' wild waste? — 

They should have come here a week! 
If they had red sins to atone, 

Mere residence here would efface. 
Alone, alone, alone ! 

Oh, this is a horrible place!" 

"The seals splash around in the sea, 

The walrus disports on the ice, 
But I, like the North Star am fixed, 

Like a bear that's trapped in a vice. 
Gibbous and shroud-like the snow, 

Wretched and lonely my lot, 
Soon I'll be bedlam, I know, 

In this gruesome land God forgot!" 



44 



PTARMIGAN STEW A LA MULLIGAN'S 

SQUAW 

I'd like to go back to Idaho 

And marry a dame I know; 
But I don't think she'd come 

To this Land of Rum, 
Where it's sixty-two below ; 

And I can't go there 
Because I've lost the air 

Of how a fellow should be, 
When he must live 

In a town and give 
His time to society. 

But there is a squaw 
That is widowed by law, 

The same is the Muk-Luk Kid; 
She lost her pa when Dan McGraw 

Slammed the male Muk-luk with a skid. 



My partner then was a prince among men, 

Mike Mulligan his monniker, 
And said Mike to me, "It'll be charity 

For you to drink less liquor, 
And take her in, though it be a sin; 

She'll make you an excellent klootch; 



45 



PTARMIGAN STEW A LA MULLIGAN'S 

SQUAW 

And I'm getting sick hearing you whine and kick, 

It's driving me to hootch ! 
I'll leave you my poke, since you're always broke, 

And then I'll take to the hills ; 
I feel my feet itch, so while the dogs I hitch, 

Please roll me one of your pills. 
But before I go I'll put on some dough, 

And we'll have a scrumptious stew, 
Like my squaw used to cook before she was took 

Away with the murderous flu. 
And I'll teach the Kid how the trick is did, 

And she'll thank Dan McGraw; 
And call it luck that her buck is peluk 

When she tastes ptarmigan stew a la Mulli- 
gan's squaw!" 

And so Mike vamoosed and the hot tears sluiced 

Out from the wells of my eyes ; 
And I made up my mind that I'd be kind, 
And give the Muk-luk Kid a surprise. 
I'd take Mike's advice and not stop to think 
twice, 
Because you got to be quick; 
Courtin' an Esquimo maiden is like when you're 
wadin' 
When ice runs loose in the creek. 
Now I've been in the North, in the hills back and 
forth, 
Many years 'round about Nome, 
And oftimes I'd dream, by my campfire's gleam, 

of the chow I was used to at home. 
Now, most times it's beans that I cook in be- 
tweens 



46 



PTARMIGAN STEW A LA MULLIGAN'S 

SQUAW 

The while I am sinking a hole 
Down to bedrock each day, in an attempt to 
strike pay; 

And they're slowly shrivelling my soul! 
I'd sometimes think that I'd like to sink 

Into an endless sleep, 
So that I might dream of what might have been, 

Had I a woman in wedlock to keep. 

I've wintered at Cape York, where there's no 
need for a fork, 

When you dine in a smelly igloo ; 
The Eskimoes there just squat in a square 

And finger their whale-blubber stew. 
And I did it, too, for the motto I construe, 

"In York do as the Yorkers do?" 
If you don't you will learn that their code is 
stern, 

And harm may happen to you. 
I've dined and I've wined before I came to this 
land, 

I've feasted in every clime; 
I've ate flying-fish from a cocoanut-shell dish, 

And I liked frog-legs the very first time. 
In China or France I never missed a chance 

To make merry when grub was in sight; 
But here I get grumpy because I get hungry, 

And under the Northern Light it's a plight ! 

Now before Mike fled, he did as he said 
About teaching the Muk-luk Kid; 



47 



PTARMIGAN STEW A LA MULLIGAN'S 

SQUAW 

She can now cook a squid and when she lifts the 
lid 

From the pot on our Yukon stove, 
The savory smell brings the sour-doughs pell- 
mell, 

As the wind wafts a whiff down the cove. 
And so I'll ask the Kid if she'll accept my bid 

To be spliced accordin' to law. 
Oh ! it's not her looks, but man, how she cooks 

Ptarmigan stew a la Mulligan's squaw! 



48 



THE WOODCHOPPER 

He stood upon the river bank 

Beside his pile of wood, 
His cabin in the clearing, 

A rough shelter for his brood. 
When the steamboat made a landing, 

I found it hard to trace 
A resemblance to a white man 

Upon his bearded face. 

I wondered how the man did live 

In such a lonely place, 
Where there wasn't much of anything 

But leagues and leagues of space. 
I pondered on the life he led, 

Apart from his own kind; 
And would he evermore return 

To the land he left behind! 

Apart from his own kind? Maybe. 

'Tis here he found his own; 
For some there be who find their kin 

In heathen flesh and bone! 
They find our modern moral code 

A bit too tightly laced; 



49 



THE WOODCHOPPER 

But within the Arctic Circle 
They can live to suit their taste! 



Carelessly I spoke to him, 

And looked him straight in eye, 
To see if I could there surprise 

A tear-drop or a sigh. 
And carelessly he answered me, 

And carelessly scratched his head — 
And carelessly he scratched and scratched, 

Where're the cooties fled ! 



"Oh Yukon Woodsman," my inward thought, 

"You lead a wretched life, 
'Way up here beneath the Pole, 

With a native klooch for wife!" 
But audibly I spoke him thus : 

"Bill, how goes it here with you?" 
And I tendered him my favored plug, 

From which he took a chew ! 



"Oh City Man," replied the exiled one, 

"I lead a life of bliss; 
I chop my wood; I smoke my pipe; 

Home never was like this ! 
The steamboat captains buy my ricks, 

And never cut my bids; 
And to my squaw my word is law — 

How do you like the kids? 



50 



THE WOODCHOPPER 



"Observe," said he, "my wants are few, 

My wardrobe here is plain; 
The same clothes I wear in sunshine, 

I also wear in rain. 
I take no heed of modes or styles; 

I am not plagued with bills; 
And when my wife gets quarrelsome, 

I go hunting in the hills ! 

"I do not crawl to any man, 

Nor after riches strive; 
I do not drive a nine-dog team 

When my neighbor drives but five. 
I'm no stickler on conventions, 

And though beyond the church's law, 
I never yet have stolen 

Another woodsman's squaw! 

"Oh, Man of Smug Conventions, 

I may not lead a life of ease, 
Up here within the Polar Zone, 

But I live much as I please. 
I find it suits me to a "T" — 

And I don't envy you !" 
And benignantly he looked at me, 

And I passed another chew ! 

His hair was thick and matted, 
And his eyes with freedom blazed, 

While unconcernedly he scratched 
Wher'ere the cooties grazed. 



51 



THE WOODCHOPPER 



His etiquette lacked much of charm, 
But he most persuaded me, 

To be a Yukon woodchopper 
And live a life so free ! 



52 



THE ALASKA EXCURSION 

You folks who've taken this voyage in gladness, 

And regarded each moment as bliss, 
Haven't you had a good time without sadness, 

And don't your thoughts run something like 
this : 
"We left Seattle as the shadows lengthened 

Across the tranquil blue of Elliott Bay; 
We now return in mind and body strengthened 

By the change of scene we've had each day. 

"We've seen a Land of wondrous peace and 
splendor, 
A Land that's part and parcel of our own, 
A Land where Uncle Sam is the Defender, 
A Land where only strong men make their 
home ! 
Alaska's young, but oh! it's had a history; 

God only knows what dangers men have met, 
Who first came to the North to solve it's mys- 
tery; 
Their lives and deeds we never can forget ! 

"We make the voyage now in ocean liners, 

With luxuries to tempt the young and old ; 
But the early pioneers and miners — 



53 



THE ALASKA EXCURSION 



Well we can guess what men endure for luring 
gold! 
We've seen the glories of the Inside Passage, 

Each mile a nature-poem unto itself; 
The valleys, glacier-girded since the Ice Age, 
Silver Falls that tumble down the mountain 
shelf! 

"Can we forget the peacefulness of Sitka? 

Can we forget the charm of Ketchikan? 
Can we forget the sunset that lit the 

Sky as we passed by the Isle of Estavan? 
We can't forget our great surprise at Juneau, 

With it's gold mines that fringe the Channel 
shore ; 
And Haines and Petersburg and Skagway, 

Shall linger in our memory evermore! 

"The strange wonder of the sun at midnight, 

The rose-tint of the virgin snow, 
That gleamed from crag and peak at twilight, 

And changed to sombre gray at morning's 
glow. 
The forests that stretch so far, they're endless, 

The glaciers that come down to kiss the sea, 
Glistening ice vastitudes that sent us 

Into transports of thrilling ecstacy ! 

"We've had a trip that's satisfied our craving, 

Our cup of joy has been full to the brim, 
And our only sorrow now is to be leaving 



54 



THE ALASKA EXCURSION 



A ship that's satisfied our every whim. 
The meals so tasty, weren't they delicious? 

Our appetites left spaces to be filled, 
We ate everything in sight, and scraped the 
dishes, 

In cleaning up the dinner we were skilled! 

"From captain down the crew was kind and 
gracious, 

For their efforts we have only words of praise ; 
And we'll tell the tourists that replace us, 

That on the 'Spokane' they'll have ten happy 
days. 
You can bet that when we feel a yearning 

For the wanderlust that's in us, every man, 
Our thoughts back to Alaska will be turning, 

And in memory we will cherish the 'Spokane' !" 



55 



ALASKA TOURIST RUBAIYAT 

Some for the pleasures of this world; and some 
Yearn for the Aridness that is to come; 
Others war to maim and kill their kind — 

Age of martial law, hand-grenade and bomb ! 

I saw a friend before I came away, 
And we two talked of Thirst, as freemen may; 
And as between the Bryan view and mine — 
Or Wet, or Dry; he knew not what to say! 

There is no fixed view. Fanatics warn 
That those who drink will live to mourn; 
They love to mark the path we all must walk — 
But who refuses when the cork is drawn? 

My friend is well informed; his mind runs in a 

groove 
Straight to the point he wants to prove; 
"Go on up to Alaska, Dan," he said, 

"Policemen there don't watch your every 

move !" 

And so away ! to tour Alaska, wonderland, 
Where peace serene doth reign on every hand; 



56 



ALASKA TOURIST RUBAIYAT 



The smell of piney woods, and cool, salt air- 
What more, I ask, could arid man demand? 



A fortnight's cruise through placid waters blue, 
Towering mountains ever in close view; 
And eagles soaring in the wilderness — 

What peace, enow, Allah, all praise to you ! 



We may recline upon the shaded deck 
Of our good ship; afar a crag, mere speck, 
Aglint in pearly pink and gold ! Eternal snow ! 
We ponder — and the dinner gong respect! 

Or here, upon some purling river's brink, 
We may decide the while to fish; to think — 
Am I correct? or is my reason swayed 
By that mild liquid that Alaskans drink? 

Again at ease, the story in the book 
Holds us enthralled; yon gurgling brook 
Cascades seaward, it's vernal song unheard — 
How oft the scene calls for another look! 



We fly the din and strife, the world at war, 
The voice of Bryan, blatant mugwump's roar; 
And far up in the North we'll find 

The repose — and change — we have been hop- 
ing for! 



57 



ALASKA TOURIST RUBAIYAT 

A label sometimes hides the false for true ; 
And taste alone provides the proper clew; 
A brief vacation in Alaska's wilds — 

I judge it Scotch! Steward, all praise to you! 

Three days, anon, since we left Seattle's gate, 
Haggard and dry; a drought in every State; 
At Juneau soon, Alaska's pride; my pen — 
My thirst is keen. Allah, this Scotch is great ! 

Oh cooks of the good ship, the Nobel Prize 
Were yours, 'twere it mine to give! Your pies 
And savory vituals just hit me right — 
Forsooth, you make the ship a Paradise! 

To-day we passed a hundred waterfalls ; 
I stood in awe at Taku's icy walls ; 
And as I scanned the glacier's dizzy climb, 
I mused — "Useless Ice! we have no rye high- 
balls !" 

So blue the sky and bright the Midnight Sun ! 
Busy the trollers while the salmon run! 
Oh ! Northland Muse, my laggart pen inspire — 
Direct me where to buy; my jug is done! 

Oh William Bryan; would thou were with me 

here! 
These sparkling waters, cool and crystal clear, 
I'd gladly push you in, and watch you sink — 
Since you their virtues much prefer to beer! 



58 



ALASKA TOURIST RUBAIYAT 

Or, Bill, I'd like to chain you on a mount, 
With nothing near you but a trickling fount; 
Alaska has so many here to spare — 

I tried to number them but lost the count! 

And now, so soon, alas, we're homeward bound; 
Too short has been our trip from Puget Sound; 
We've seen Alaska, glacier, sea and mine, 
And wonders such as nowhere else are found. 

Skagway, where the Trail of 'Ninety-Eight be- 
gan; 
Chilkoot, graveyard of a caravan ; 
Sitka, with it's atmosphere of Russia — 

The High-North that begins at Ketchikan! 

When I get home again and meet my friend, 
His hand I'll shake and thanks to him extend; 
I'm rested now; my thirst is quenched — 
Allah, preserve Alaska to the End! 



59 



NOVEMBER IN NOME 

The last boat is leaving, 
My heart is grieving; 
After all the years 
I have spent in Nome. 

I cannot wander 
Outside to squander 
A fortune and visit 
The folks at home! 



My days of spending 
Are quickly ending; 
Illusions shattered, 
Ambition dead. 

The winter's nearing, 

The North is sneering, 

"I've still got you, 

Though your friends have fled !" 

The snow is falling 
And slowly crawling, 
Down the jagged edges 
Of the Sawtooth Slopes. 



60 



NOVEMBER IN NOME 



Soon all the tundra 
It will bury under, 
Like the slender traces 
Of my vanished hopes. 

The boat departing, 
Leaves a wake while darting, 
Across the waters 
Of Bering Sea. 

Like the sunset's shading, 
It's quickly fading; 
And that's how gladness 
Departs from me! 

The sky is scowling, 
The dogs are howling; 
My heart responds 
To the dismal tune. 



Oh! Bryan, damn you, 
May the devil cram you — 
I wish we had back 
Our old saloon! 



61 



ROMANCE ON AN ALASKA LINER 

'Twas high up on the top-deck where 

The little boats are tied, 
That I took a seat last evening, 

With Maggie by my side. 
The ship was ours, the world was ours ; 

The time was half-past nine, 
When shyly and fondly 

She slipped her hand in mine ! 



The wavelets swept about us, 

Behind us and before, 
They lapped and clapped, and purled and curled, 

Upon the ocean floor. 
The sky was bright above us, 

The sunset something fine, 
That lit the love-light in her eyes, 

And drew her hand in mine! 



The shore was half a mile away, 

And we were all alone. 
The wake we made was quick to fade, 

A line of milky foam. 
She watched the water churning, 



62 



ROMANCE ON AN ALASKA LINER 



Marked the propeller's rhyme; 
But I — I felt the burning 
Of her little hand in mine! 



The noisy crowd below us — 

What cared we for the dance? 
When we could sit in twilight 

And watch the waters prance. 
A star shot through the heavens, 

Dan Cupid's counter-sign, 
And I felt his arrow pierce me 

As I took her hand in mine! 



Oh! Little Girl, so fairy-like, 

I did not think I'd meet 
My fate so soon when I booked upon 

This flag-ship of the fleet. 
To sojourn through life with you 

In any land or clime, 
I know I'd every happy be 

With your little hand in mine! 



On our return to the U. S. A. 

Let us to the parson run, 
And have him tie a little knot 

That cannot come undone. 
Then years from now when far away, 

In distance and in time, 
We'll think of the good ship "EVANS," 

And your little hand in mine! 



63 



THE BALLAD OF HOW LOVE CAME TO 
A CROSS-EYED COUPLE 



I've heard some doubting Thomas say that first- 
sight loves don't chance, 

That something more is needed than that first, 
long, soulful glance; 

Listen and I'll tell to you of at least one true 
instance, 

That happened on an Alaska steamer ; this is the 
circumstance : 



It happed one night in the waning light as we 

were ready to sail, 
The gang-plank in and all the din of the busy 

wharf hushed and still, 
The "Good-Byes" said, we were thinking of bed 

and the warmth of our state-room's pale. 
When a youth who came late leaped over the gate 

and climbed up the vessel's rail. 



He was calm and cool and seemed no fool, and I 

noted his leeward eye 
Had a squint and a glint like a spark of flint and 

he flashed it 'round and 'round. 



64 



THE BALLAD OF HOW LOVE CAME TO 
A CROSS-EYED COUPLE 

Says he, "I'm late, but I wish you'd wait till I 

bid my friends good-bye, 
I was delayed 'cause my luggage strayed, and I 

waited till it was found." 

When his baggage came I remarked the name 
tagged on the end of a trunk, 

"Percy DeSalle, Berkeley, Cal.," and the destina- 
tion "Seward." 

Then the whistle blew and as from the pier we 
drew, I sleepily made for my bunk, 

But I turned and took another look at the youth 
with the squinted eye to leeward. 

When along came a maid, and I was glad I 

stayed, for then the drama was staged, 
She paused at the stair, her golden hair tightly 

combed over her ears, 
And her windward eye took a slant toward the 

sky, though the other was perfectly gauged. 
The two of them met, I remember it yet, their 

gaze seemed to fathom the years. 

When I went a-hem-m ! it meant nothing to 
them, they gazed and gazed and gazed! 

Into the moulds of each other's souls with eyes 
that blazed and blazed! 

With all the might of love's first light, whose 
flames could never be quenched 

With nothing less than the wantonness of pas- 
sion's consequence. 



65 



THE BALLAD OF HOW LOVE CAME TO 
A CROSS-EYED COUPLE 

Again I went a-hem! a-hem-m-m ! and again I 

went a-hem-m-m ! 
But still their gaze in a dreamy haze remained 

unlocked, unbroke! 
And it seemed to me that there was no key could 

loose the lock for them, 
For Cupid's darts had pierced their hearts with 

a sure and rapid stroke. 

So I went below, though I disliked to go; I'd 

glimpsed the magic force, 
And I hated to miss the soulful kiss that would 

follow the trance-like spell 
That held the eyes that would otherwise have 

taken a different course, 
If each leeward eye and each windward eye had 

been properly set in it's well. 

Next day at table Percy sat next to Mabel — he 

wasn't aware of her name — 
He'd turn and say, "Honey, Gee, ain't it funny, 

how I found you at last, at last!" 
And his leeward eye seemed to descry each want 

and wish of his flame; 
And her windward eye echoed his sigh and her 

lips barely touched the repast. 

'Twas weird to see and it did please me in a 

queer, hypnotic way, 
They'd sit and spoon 'neath the misty moon, and 

they cared not who looked on. 



66 



THE BALLAD OF HOW LOVE CAME TO 
A CROSS-EYED COUPLE 

He called her "Dove," she'd whisper "Love," and 
they'd known only a day! 

Oh! Cupid's a wizard and he storms like a bliz- 
zard when once he gets hooked on. 

When we arrived at Seward that eye to leeward 

searched out the parson's manse, 
And soon, united, Mabel, delighted, to windward 

eyed wedlock ring, 
And I'm sure that I, who gladly stood by, use 

no extravagance, 
When I say that Love at First-Sight may come in 

the night, though cynics say there's no 

such thing. 



67 



WEATHER 

When the sun is shining gaily 

It is easy to be spry; 
You blithely sing songs daily 

And keep your spirits high. 
You chirp a cheery greeting 

As you hop out of your bed, 
And it's echo keeps repeating 

Long after you have fed. 
You look upon the mountains 

With rapture in your gaze, 
As you watch the bubbling fountains 

Tumbling down the shady glades. 
The snow, so pink and pearly, 

Upon the distant peaks ; 
The rocks, so big and burly, 

With such rakish shapes and freaks. 

You sense the peace and splendor 

That Alaska calls it's own, 
When you sight a glacial wonder — 

Some mighty Ice-God's throne. 
Oh ! When the sun is shining 

You're as rich as old John D., 
For your thoughts are all arhyming 

With Springtime's melody. 
But when the sky is foggy 



68 



WEATHER 



And the rain is pouring down, 
You're liable to feel groggy, 
And groutch and growl and frown! 

You cannot see the Midnight Sun, 

You cannot see the hills ; 
In fishing you can see no fun, 

You cannot feel the thrills ; 
You can't loll in a steamer chair 

In the great Outdoors ; 
Your soul cavorting in higher air, 

Where the eagle soars; 
You cannot go to table 

To eat a piece of pie, 
Without a wish to kick your neighbor 

And slam him in the eye; 
You cannot see the Northern Lights 

Go flaming across the dome ! 
Your system's full of barks and bites 

And you wish that you'd stayed home! 

Oh ! such is life and such are men ; 

Much hinges on the weather, 
If we would be congenial when 

We bunch ourselves together. 
So let us drink this little toast, 

"Alaska, in sunshine or in rain, 
We love your vales, we love your coast, 

And may we all come back again !" 



69 



THREE HUNDRED AND THIRTY-ONE 

Their spirits hover, in calm or blow, 

Where Prudence warned, "Go slow! go slow!" 

Three hundred and thirty-one beneath these wa- 
ters lie! 
Three hundred and thirty-one who had to die 
Because a captain, long past his prime, 
Gambled to keep his scheduled time! — 
Gambled with Death in a blinding snow, 
Though Prudence warned: "Go slow! Go slow! 
These bays with rocks and reefs abound, 
Do not run your ship aground!" 

So Prudence warned; but still he sped 
With the telegraph set "full speed ahead !" 
"I'll take a chance (I've often done it) 
Though many lives depend upon it. 
I know it's rash to keep under wa)^, 
But the C. P. S. brooks no delay!" 

But Death won that game of chance — 
The fallen in a fray in France 
Were not more numerous than the list 
Who perished in that howling mist, 
When the staunch Sophia came to grief 
On the gaping jaws of Vanderbilt Reef! 



70 



THREE HUNDRED AND THIRTY-ONE 



Captain, crew and ship's company — 
Not one survived their agony. 
None lived to tell the harrowing tale 
Of that mournful day and fateful gale! 



But their spirits hover J in calm or blow, 
Where Prudence warned, "Go slow! go slow 



Note. — The S. S. Princess Sophia, of the Cana- 
dian Pacific Steamship Company, was wrecked 
on Vanderbilt Reef, Lynn Canal, Alaska, on Oc- 
tober 24, 1917. Everyone aboard, 331 in number, 
perished. Whenever ships meet with disaster in 
these waters the public is quick to criticise with- 
out waiting for an official investigation to place 
the blame. 



71 



FOG AND SNOW 



People ask me with impatience 

When the ship comes to a stop: 
"What's the matter? Goodness gracious! 

Are we going to go kerflop?" 
And they huddle all together, 

As the engines slip a cog, 
But all is well except the weather; 

The captain sees a bank of fog! 
Maybe it hangs low and lurking, 

Around a point some miles away; 
Maybe it is high and working 

With the wind across the bay; 
But no matter where he views it 

With his sharp and weather eye, 
He hates mighty hard to lose it; 

So keeps the vessel standing by. 



Other craft go along unthrottled; 

Vessels pass on every side; 
Every hulk and scow unscuttled, 

While our ship waits for fog and tide. 
And they greet us as they pass us, 



72 



FOG AND SNOW 



With a loud and raucous blast, 
Just as if they mean to class us 
With the snags they hold aghast. 



But even as they hoot and jeer us, 

And call to us to throw a line, 
And they will tow us to a pier as 

Soon as not, I think it fine; 
And hope our captain will take the offer, 

So that we'll see home again, 
Before the ship wears out the rudder 

And the grub is on the wane. 



I could live and still be happy 

On a ship or on a tug, 
As long as I hear the waters lapping 

And the engines chug-a-chug. 
But it makes me glum and weary 

When they drop the hook all night, 
Just because the captain's leary 

Of every wisp of fog in sight. 

When the birds all South are heading 

We will still be pointed North ; 
When Winter's snows are laid for sledding, 

We will still be creeping forth. 
Then he'll anchor when it's snowing, 

Just as now he stops for fog; 
God only knows when we'll be going, 

"Home-bound" written on the log. 



73 



FOG AND SNOW 



It's a cinch we'll all be wrinkled, 

Bearded, old and gray, 
Unless we choose a hill-side, dew-besprinkled, 

To lay the Old Man's goat away! 



Note. — Whenever ships are navigated with 
caution, and hence meet with delays in fogs, and 
snows and foul weather, passengers thereon are 
prone to be impatient and jibe the navigating 
officers as being timid and incompetent. 



74 



SUNNY CALIFORNIA 

I want to hear the steamboat toot for a summer 
land that's gay; 

I want to feel the soft sunshine of dreamy Mon- 
terey ; 

I want to hear the captain call : 

"Come on, my lads, let's go !" 

I want to go to "Sunny Cal" 

And forget this Land of Snow! 



I want to see the blossoms bloom pink on the 

cherry trees; 
I want to stretch on a sandy beach near Los 

Angeles ; 
I want to hear the mate sing out 
"Aye, Aye Sir, the lines are free!" 
I want to sail for "Sunny Cal" — 
That's the land for me! 



I want to see the Berkeley hills green in the 

hazy sky; 
I want to see the "Only Town" where all good 

fellows hie; 
I want to hear the engines throb, 
And gladness will be mine, 



75 



SUNNY CALIFORNIA 



When I sail through the Golden Gate 
On a ship of the Admiral Line ! 

I want to leave this frigid zone North of Fifty- 
three ; 

I want to live in a summer land and bathe in a 
silver sea; 

I want to see the steamboat start 

And I want to be aboard — 

When she sets her course for "Sunny Cal" 

You bet I'll thank the Lord ! 



76 



THE BALLAD OF THE ICE-BOUND SHIP 

In the dailies of July the Seventh, 

Nineteen Hundred and Eight, 
May be found as news the story 

That I here in rhyme relate. 

A ship sailed from Seattle, 

Bound North to Bering Sea, 
It passed out Flattery on June the First 

And in Nome on the Eighth should be. 

The day was bright and balmy, 

The passengers blithe and gay, 
And an envious crowd watched from the pier 

As the good ship steamed away. 

And than the ship "Ohio" 

No faster could be found, 
Among all the other vessels 

That sailed from Puget Sound. 

What of the ice conditions? 

The "Ohio" was the ship 
That would forge her way among the floes, 

And give them all the slip ! 



77 



THE BALLAD OF THE ICE-BOUND SHIP 

And so hope and expectations rife 
Burned within each manly breast, 

That he would be in Nome at least 
A week before the rest. 



The passage up to Unimak 

Was brisk with a favored wind, 

And the Ohio entered Bering Sea 
With the others far behind. 



And as she passed the bleak Scotch Cap 
All hands were out on deck — 

A few more days of wind and wave, 
Then nuggets by the peck! 



And all their thoughts were golden thoughts- 

Oh! what a golden joke, 
Before those other ships would come, 

They would fill with gold their poke ! 

And so when the whistle blew, 

They raised a merry shout, 
Saluting the Scotch Cap Light guard 

As the good ship tossed about. 

And then away through Bering Sea! 

St. Lawrence quickly passed; 
Nunivak Island on the lea — 

Soon Nome, oh Nome, at last ! 



78 



THE BALLAD OF THE ICE-BOUND SHIP 

But no! oh, what has happened, 

The ship comes to a sudden stop, 
Like a pointer that sights his quarry 

And no further dares to hop ! 



All hands went quickly out to see, 
And heard the look-out shout: 

"Ice forward, sir, on the starboard bow!" 
And the captain ordered to turn about. 



The course was changed from North Northeast 

To North, two points to West, 
And once more the good ship started 

To be in Nome a week before the rest. 



A day of this, and once again 
The ship slowed down its speed, 

Like when a jockey pulls the reins 
On a thoroughbred racing steed. 

Once more the cry from look-out came, 
"Ice ahead, sir, a quarter beam to port !" 

And once again the captain scowled, 
And pulled the ship up short. 

Then anxious, indeed, the crowd did get 

That they were losing time. 
And began to fear that they would never be 

In Nome the first to mine. 



79 



THE BALLAD OF THE ICE-BOUND SHIP 



They began to fear the skipper 
Was not a man of pluck, 

And as the fear to knowledge grew, 
They cursed their rotten luck. 



So they sent a delegation 

To ask the captain to be bold, 
They wanted to be in Nome the first, 

To get the first chance at the gold ! 



But lo, the ship starts out again, 
This time the course was West, 

And quickly down to zero went all hope 
To be in Nome before the rest! 



To West she sailed some twenty leagues, 
And then coursed slightly North, 

And, impelled slowly by a light North wind 
The ice came creeping forth. 

It came from North, it came from East, 

It came from South and West, 
And forever glimmering went all hope 

To be in Nome before the rest. 

The ice closed in, a pallid mass, 

That locked the ship up tight, 
Oh, a sad and haggard bunch, indeed, 

Were the men aboard that night. 



80 



THE BALLAD OF THE ICE-BOUND SHIP 



Days and days went slowly by, 

And still the ice held fast. 
The days grew into weary weeks, 

And drearily they passed. 

The weeks grew nigh unto a month, 

The grub began to wane, 
And still no sign of a change of wind, 

So that the ship could go on again. 

Meanwhile the master, Conrady, 

Kept shut up in his room, 
And the passengers and crew all thought 

That the ship had met its doom ! 

They gathered in the smoking room, 
A muttering, chattering mass; 

They cursed the master roundly, 
And called him a bally ass ! 

They gathered in the dining room, 

Wherein they all did eat; 
And again they scored the master, 

And called him an idiot! 

At last a thoughtful passenger 

Proposed an interview; 
He'd go himself to Master Conrady 

To see what he could do. 



81 



THE BALLAD OF THE ICE-BOUND SHIP 



"Dear Captain," said the passenger, 
"If you have some dynamite, 

I'll blast a roadway through this ice 
And we'll get out alright. 



"Today I climbed the after-mast 
And I could see for miles; 

Astern of us there's not much ice, 
But ahead it's packed in piles ! 

"If we can make the open sea, 

We can go home again ; 
You see, the boys are getting peeved, 

And the grub is on the wane !" 

And Master Conrady answered him, 
"My man, don't take affright, 

For grub we have our cargo still, 
But we have no dynamite. 

"Soon, I think, the wind will change, 

The glass is going down ; 
I hope it don't go down too far, 

Or else we all will drown ! 



"We weren't just expecting this, 
But now that we are here, 

We may be here another week, 
And we may be here a year ! 



82 



THE BALLAD OF THE ICE-BOUND SHIP 



"And now, good-night, my thoughtful friend, 

When you go down below, 
Please tell the other passengers 

I hope that soon we'll go!" 



So back came this passenger 
Unto the motley crowd below, 

Assembled in the social hall 
And grumbling at their woe. 



He gave the captain's message, 
Explaining that the glass 

A warning gave, when it did fall, 
That a gale would come to pass. 



Now among the ship's company 
There were some timid souls, 

And a gale to come just then meant that 
The ice might cut big holes. 

Into the vitals of the ship; 

She surely would go down — 
And then a watery grave for them, 

For surely they would drown! 

They huddled in the social hall 
And began to weep and pray, 

Calling on the Lord to succor them, 
So sadly led astray. 



83 



THE BALLAD OF THE ICE-BOUND SHIP 



A miner then, of braver heart, 
Who was prepared to die, 

Since in Nome he could not be, 
Prayed thus to Him on High 



"Oh ! Lord, if it be Thy will, 
This ship to the Deep consign, 

But, pray, let our timid captain be 
The first to go in brine ! 

"We did not come," this miner prayed, 

"To Arctic Seas explore ; 
Pray guide us into Nome, oh Lord, 

We want to go ashore!" 



And up spake a bronzed sailor, 
A true son of the salt was he, 

Who had sailed North with Greeley 
O'er many a frozen sea. 

"My friends," said this old sea-dog, 
"The captain is not to blame; 

If I thought he was not cautious 
I never would have came. 



"I've been with many masters, 
And this I full well know, 

That to navigate these icy seas 
One sometimes must go slow!' 



84 



THE BALLAD OF THE ICE-BOUND SHIP 



"And I," said an old Nome merchant, 
"Also know a thing or two, 

Though he may be safe and cautious, 
He has got us in a stew. 



"It don't take a navigator 
To take us now to Nome, 

I think he should be in Snug Harbor, 
Or in some old folk's home. 



"We did not know our captain, gents, 

Or we'd have known that we 
Would be the last of all the bunch, 

To be in Nome on Bering Sea. 

"I'm losing thousands every day, 

And I swear to God that I 
Could take this ship to Nome to-day, 

If he would let me try !" 

And so they chattered and jabbered, 
And so they prayed and cursed, 

These men that would now be last in Nome 
Who should have been the first. 



Each day now succeeding 
Was the same as the day before, 

Except that the ship kept drifting 
Nearer to the bleak Siberian shore. 



85 



THE BALLAD OF THE ICE-BOUND SHIP 



How passed the time for all that crowd? 

I really hate to say, 
Though most, through disappointment, drank, 

To pass the time away. 



Some they took to poetry, 
Others argued law, 

Others got melancholia, 
The worst you ever saw. 



Some played at solitaire, 

And some they took to women, 

Though anyone with half an eye 
Should see there's nothing in 'em. 

One, Ziph, who managed River boats, 
Feeling out of place on this one, 

Worked out a scheme to break the ice, 
But Conrady wouldn't listen ! 

Others took to pinochle, 

Like lovers who get spooney ; 
For such as they what else is there 

To keep from going looney ? 

One, Scliscovitch, had to beg from friends 
When he wanted cigs or skee, 

For he'd made a bet that he'd be first 
To be in Nome on Bering Sea. 



86 



THE BALLAD OF THE ICE-BOUND SHIP 



Such was the life of all that bunch 

Aboard the staunch Ohio, 
Packed in the ice that wouldn't break, 

With a captain that wouldn't try to! 

Now what of the folks at Seattle 
When the month of June had gone, 

And the Fourth of July that followed, 
And it, too, had passed on? 

With no tidings of the Ohio, 

Or of Master Conrady, 
Who had set out so gaily 

On his voyage to Bering Sea? 

When all the ships that had sailed to Nome 

Had returned to Puget Sound, 
And still no word had brought of her, 

Or any trace had found? 

There was no wireless in those days, 

Nor was a cable laid— 
And when a ship did not return 

They gave her up for dead! 

When the old Victoria came sailing home 

And tied up at her pier, 
A multitude asked Johnny O'Brien, 

Anxiously, if he did see her. 



87 



THE BALLAD OF THE ICE-BOUND SHIP 

But that old mariner shook his head 

And sadly answered, "No, 
I sailed to East and I sailed to West, 

And where every wind did blow; 



"I scanned the horizon North and South 

As homeward we did comb, 
But though we did not sight her once, 

I think she is in Nome! 



"You see, the ice was thick up there, 
And an Easterly wind was blowin' 

I caught and trained a walrus for a guide, 
That's how I got to Nome. 

"I skirted St. Lawrence hard to port, 

To windward kept Nunivak, 
And when I ran into an open sea 

My walrus knew the track!" 

But, still, the people were alarmed 

For all their friends so dear, 
And as each and every ship arrived 

They craved some word to hear. 

And they prayed the Lord that some day soon 

The Ohio would return, 
And that their friends were safely landed 

On that far off Northern bourn. 



88 



THE BALLAD OF THE ICE-BOUND SHIP 

And at last their prayers were answered, 

It was late in the month of July, 
As a salmon-colored sunset 

Lit the Western Washington sky. 

When slowly from the Northward 

A steamer hove in view, 
And they recognized the Ohio 

So many weeks overdue. 

And on the bridge a figure, 

Age-worn, bent and low, 
And they knew it was Conrady, master, 

Who sailed so long ago. 

And all the vessels in harbor 

Blew a joyful, welcome blast, 
That the Ohio, Conrady, master, 

Had safely arrived at last! 



Note.— The S. S. Ohio sailed June 1st, 1908, 
for Nome, Alaska, and reached the Northern port 
July 7, just 37 days out from Seattle. 



89 



A SAILOR LAD 

On the battlefield to die 
Would be a glorious death, 

But a sailor lad am I 

With every pulse and breath. 

The Deep is the sailor's home; 

There's where I would be, 
Entwined in my country's flag, 

Let the seas roll over me ! 

No stone can mark the spot 
Where I'll lie in endless sleep, 

Though I'm sure a friendly star 
Will a constant vigil keep! 

And when winds and storms rage 
My spirit shall be a guide 

For mariners that brave 
And sail the ocean wide. 



90 



HARRY WEBSTER 

His name was Harry Webster, a most unassum- 
ing lad, 

Who didn't ask for much from life, but gave of 
all he had. 

The mischief of his boyhood always struck a 
roving note, 

And his taste for life's adventure made him 
choose a life afloat. 

He didn't seek promotion, just a piece of drift- 
wood he, 

But his manhood has added lustre to the annals 
of the sea. 



On the Admiral liner "Governor" he filled a hum- 
ble berth, 

But the brave deeds of the humble are the bravest 
deeds on earth. 

Among his routine duties was to shine the cabin 
brass, 

But with the Lord today as master he has a job 
of higher class, 

And there's not a heart among us but should 
throb with honest pride 

When we read of Harry Webster and the noble 
way he died. 



91 



HARRY WEBSTER 



On that fateful April midnight there was quiet on 
Puget Sound 

The stars, full crop, were twinkling on the coun- 
try all around 

No thought in all that sleeping crowd of pas- 
sengers and crew 

That doom was nigh and death was near before 
the dawn was due, 

From the look-out came no warning, on the sea 
no sound or splash, 

When like a clap of thunder came a great heart- 
rending crash. 

The Bombay-bound "West Hartland," with 
eight-thousand tons of freight, 

Had rammed the crack ship "Governor," the pride 
of sea and strait 

Now many ships were sunk in war by the deadly 
submarine 

When the gallant deeds of our brave boys in- 
creased the Kaiser's spleen, 

But the heart that's stout in peacetime needs a 
superbrand of grit, 

A courage greater than the heart that does a 
war-time bit. 

The heavy laden freighter cut the greyhound like 

a knife, 
And good seamanship, unaided, cut down the 

loss of life, 
But a mother in a cabin trapped by the swift 

impact 



92 



HARRY WEBSTER 

Refused to leave her pinioned babes, he thrilled at 

the mother's act. 
He didn't have a fighting chance to save those 

hapless three, 
But he figured that he'd do it or go down into 

the sea. 

His mates saw it was futile and wildly called 
to him to quit, 

And as the last life-boat was lowered pleaded 
that he jump for it, 

But the courage of this seaman as he went to 
meet his Lord 

Was like the great love of that mother for the 
children she adored. 

Oh, it don't take long to tell it and every sailor- 
man on earth 

Should know the name of Webster, though he 
filled a humble berth. 



93 



TO ROBERT SERVICE 

Many poets write of the Northland 
And all their song is the same, 
Blizzards, snowslides and glaciers, 
Harlots, murder and shame, 
Gold-lust, maniacs, demons, 
Everything wicked and vile, 
Slander, rumor and falsehood 
In every meter and style. 
But there is one among their number 
Who rightly deserves fortune and fame, 
Robert Service, the Bard of the Northland, 
We honor and cherish his name ! 

The land? He paints vivid word pictures. 
The life? He portrays it with truth. 
Clean are his themes and his diction, 
Though his heroes be rough and uncouth. 

There is no law on the Yukon, 

The cheechakoes boastfully say, 

But there is a creed that is bred in the breed, 

Of the men out digging for pay. 

It holds that a cache is sacred, 

Don't touch of another's store ; 

And he that steals is an outcast 



94 



TO ROBERT SERVICE 



Branded f orevermore ! 

As a wolf he is known to the miner, 

As a wolf he is trapped at last, 

But though you have stolen our hearts, Robert 

Service, 
The most loved bard of the North is your caste ! 

So we honor his name, and we ponder: 
His writings will live when we're dead, 
And future generations will wonder 
If these things can be true like he said ! 



95 



TO H. F. ALEXANDER 

President Pacific S. S. Co. 

Honor! 
Faith ! 
Ability ! 

H onor has been the keynote of his enter- 
prise ; 

F aith in himself to do whatever task he 
tries ; 

A bility, these three, have been the secret 
of his rise. 

L et others pause at the A B C's ; when 

E ndless and impassable seems the road to 
the 

X Y Z's, he pushes on ! And as he climbs 
each rugged hill, 

A 11 the while he is smiling still ! 

N ever yet is that man down who 

D elights to smile when others frown. 

E ver will Neptune's ruddy sailormen 

R evere Success when it smiles on him ! 



96 



FORMULA OF THE SUCCESS 
OF 

ANCIL F. HAINES 

Vice-President and General Manager, 
Pacific Steamship Company. 

I worked like blue blazes 

When I was a kid ; 
I worked like a truck-horse, 

That's what I did ! 
And I've never found time 

To break off the habit, 
And I'm never so happy 

As when I'm hard at it ! 

I don't think life's prizes 

Are won just by luck; 
They are most always won 

By the man who has pluck. 
You'll notice in baseball 

The breaks come out even, 
And the best team is ahead 

At the end of the season. 

And life is like baseball ; 

You must work hard to win. 
Home-runs seldom come 

Unless you drive them in. 
Work like blue blazes, 

And then work some more, 
And you'll likely win life's battle 

By a pretty fair score. 



97 



TO DR. JOHN H. OUTLAND 

(Of Kansas City, Mo., an ardent Alaskan 
enthusiast) 

The days of youth do not remain, 

De Soto sought the fabled fount in vain. 

Yet we doctors strive to prolong the lives 

Of the fathers, mothers, husbands, wives, 

Brothers, sisters, sons and daughters 

Of the human race in earth's four quarters. 

We cut out appendixes, tonsils, nerves, 

And our noble purpose never swerves 

To drive disease from off the earth 

And make men's lives a time of mirth. 

We make research and call on Science 

That man may bid the Grave defiance ! 



And yet the life of a busy doctor 

Is fraught with jeers and hoots and laughter. 

Repairing humans of either sex 

Makes all doctors nervous wrecks. 

I tell you, Dan, it's a thankless job 

A sick man's glands to cut and swab. 

You'll cure his fever, rheum and gout, 

And all his ills you'll put to rout; 

You'll carve your way with skill and pain 



98 



TO DR. JOHN H. OUTLAND 

And scrape the cob-webs off his brain, 
And then the loon will shout derision — 
Such the reward of the skilled physician! 

And so we planned this little trip 

Which takes us riding on this ship. 

We hunted bear and moose and grouse 

And now;, by gum, we can eat a house! 

The North is like a fairy land, 

For rebuilding men it beats the band! 

Our brief vacation soon will end 

And we'll return to cut and mend 

The citizens of K. C, Mo. 

And so corral the needed dough 

To come again to Alaska when 

The mood to hunt hits us again ! 



99 



TO CAPTAIN JOHNNY O'BRIEN 

What do you mean, Captain Johnny O'Brien, 
By forsaking all the old friends of thine 

Who still are forced to abide in Nome? 
When the "Vic" arrived and we missed your face, 
Nome seemed to us a more desolate place 

Less your yearly call to our Northern home ! 
Have tropical lands your affections stole? 
Or have you abandoned old Neptune's roll 

For a farmer's life or a landsman's berth? 
But no matter what your motive may be, 
The Brotherhood, John, sends this message to 
thee, 

"The Northland appreciates your worth; 
Wherever you are, wherever you roam, 
As the compass needle turns to the North, 

You'll hold the esteem of the folks at Nome!" 



100 



TO CAPTAIN O. J. NEWCOMB OF THE 
YUKON RIVER 

When the '13 season's over and his 

boat lies in the slough, 
Our friend Captain Newcomb is going to skidoo ; 

Back to the States 

To travel a spell, 
And you bet, as his friends, we all wish him well ! 

He has been a good old sourdough, 

Ever true blue from head to toe ! 
Known throughout these Northern regions, 

The friends he has made 

will number legions. 
He knows this long old Yukon, every sand-bar 
and flat, 

and there never is a minute 

he doesn't know where he is at ! 



When he reaches San Francisco, St. Louis and 
New York, 
You bet he'll make them listen 
to the tales that he'll uncork ! 
As he sits in ease and comfort in a leather Morris- 
chair, 
and smokes a mild Havana, 
and strokes his silvery hair. 



101 



TO CAPTAIN O. J. NEWCOMB OF THE 
YUKON RIVER 

Tales of winters spent in Dawson, when it's sixty- 
two below, 
When we eat icicle-puddings 
and take our baths out in the snow. 
They'll regret there as we will, when at last he 
says, "Adieu!" 
And starts again for Dawson 
where his boat lies in the slough. 
So here's to you, Cap. Newcomb, may you find 
all kinds of sport, 
and find good cheer, and good health, too, 
Wherever you make port ; 



102 



TO MYSELF 

Ed Harriman was a railroad king; 

he made things whirl and hum. 
But at forty-three he'd had his fling; 

he's now in Kingdom Come! 
John Rockefeller has lots of dough; 

more than I will ever make ; 
But half his life is spent in woe ; 

poor John has lost his stomach. 
Kaiser Bill was considered great, 

he ruled part of creation ; 
But Bill fell from his high estate; 

and now his name is Desecration ! 



And so I could name a hundred men ; 

its been the same in every Age, 
With those who strive, with sword and pen, 

to write their name on History's Page. 
And so after all is said and done, 

when we take the sleep from which 

none awaken, 
We'll find that the man who has most fun, 
is not always the one that brings home 

the bacon ! 
So I take life much as I please, 

and do not seek for wealth or fame ; 
I stay at home or roam the seas — 

In the Great Hereafter who'll have a Name? 



103 



MOUNT McKINLEY, 20,500 FEET 

"Doc" Cook tried to climb this difficult mount, 
But, sad to relate, he faked his account. 

Professor Parker was next to pay "Mack" a call, 
But he stopped just under the Great Eastern Wall. 

Then along came a man who had better luck; 
"Old Glory" was planted by Archdeacon Stuck. 

The archdeacon proved by his experience, 
The virtue that lies in Perseverance. 

Cook lacked in honesty, grit and pluck ; 
Parker dilly-dallied, but Hudson Stuck! 

A rose by any other name might smell as sweet, 
But could Hudson Cook climb 20,500 feet? 

As Stuck was a sky-pilot by vocation, 

Perhaps he was but mapping Heaven's location. 



104 



VOLCANOES AND WOMEN 

There's a volcano in Hawaii, lad, 

"Kilawea" its proud name, 
That sets the balmy, tropic night 

Afire with it's flame. 
And round about are flowers rare, 

And gentle breezes blow; 
The witchery of the perfumed air 

Is very sweet to know. 

And far up in Alaska, lad, 

Another may be seen; 
Boreas rules the dismal waste, 

"Shishaldon" is his Queen. 
No verdure on this royal mount, 

So calm, and still, and tall, 
It's passion's smoke winds o'er a land 

Where ice and snow appall. 

Now volcanoes are like women, lad, 

There are no two the same; 
Though underneath each crest and breast, 

There burns the self-same flame. 
Kilawea is a wanton, 

With painted cheeks and lips; 
Shisaldon — oh! clever lass, 

She smokes — but makes no slips! 



105 



NO NOME FOR ME 

No! 

Nome? 

November? 

Nothing doing. 

No sun. No day. No fun. 

No moon. No comfort. No saloon. 

No boat. No trail. No news. No mail. 

No vegetation. No animation. 

No job. No pay. No, Bob, 

Not for mine! 

Nothing doing. 

November? 

Nome? 

No! 



106 



A SOURDOUGH EPICURE'S RETURN 

I'm back in Alaska after a sojourn Outside 

Where I went to visit my kin, 
I thought I would add a few pounds to my hide 

But, instead, I came back rather thin. 
After drifting about in the North many years, 

You see, I'm an old sourdough, 
I kind of got homesick a spell and I hears 

That they're having good times down below. 

So I says to myself, "I'll hop on a ship 

And return to my home in the East, 
Though there's many a slip 'twixt the cup and 
the lip, 

I'll rollick and frolic and feast." 
And my thoughts were of "Rector's" for salads 
and greens 

And of "Sherry's" for eclat and soup ; 
I felt fed up and sick of salmon and beans 

So decided that I'd fly the coup. 

I started my journey on a sea that was tossed, 
The ship bucked and rolled with the swell; 

All the meals that I ate I immediately lost, 
But of that I said "Very well, 



107 



A SOURDOUGH EPICURE'S RETURN 



I'll make up for this when I get to New York, 
A few meals more or less don't much matter;" 

And my thoughts were of "Pabst's" and it's famed 
pickled pork. 
And "Shanley's" fried oysters in batter. 



Ten days on the ship and six by train, 

Which I boarded one night at Seattle. 
Oh it felt good to me to be back again 

And hear the click-clickity rattle! 
When you've mushed o'er the trail at fifty below 

You'll appreciate riding on tracks, 
But more was I thinking of "Delmonico" 

And the steaks that I'd soon eat at "Jack's." 



I arrived at New York one evening in June 

And started the round of cafes, 
But, alas, to my cost, I discovered quite soon 

That dining had taken a raise ! 
My poke was quite heavy, my appetite keen, 

Both the accumulation of years, 
But by the Fourth of July my poke was trimmed 
clean ; 

Oh those belly-robbing cafe profiteers ! 



In place of a la carte at the "Cafe Martin' , 
I soon became a table d-hote diner, 

And then a patron of cheap "Beefsteak John," 
And later a down-and-out "Bread Liner." 

Oh then how I prayed for a grub stake and pack, 



108 



A SOURDOUGH EPICURES RETURN 



Some beans, a pan and some bacon! 
The Lord heard my prayer and let me mush back 
To this Land which fools call Godforsaken. 

So here I am, boys, no more will I roam; 

Please pass me those Petersburg shrimps ; 
Sure pard, betcherlife, I'm headed for Nome, 

I'm through with cabarets and their crimps. 
It's me for the Land of the Polar Bear, 

And, God bless me, I think I'm in luck, 
Quite soon I'll be hunting the fat arctic hare 

And dining on moose steak and duck! 

So here's to the Land of our old friends the 
Tin-can, 

The Salmon, the Bacon and Beans, 
Where every old sourdough you meet is a man 

Who'll stake you the last bit in his jeans! 
Here's to the streams where the salmon run, 

To the hills where the caribou roam, 
Here's to the Land of the Midnight Sun, 

Alaska, the Sourdough's Home! 



109 



WRITTEN FOR VARIOUS DIARIES 

For the Haines children, Ruth and Ancil 

Ruth is a name I like quite well, 

And just as much do I admire Ancil. 

And when Ruth and Ancil travel together 

To Alaska again, I hope they'll have good weather. 

This time we had so much of rain 

That perhaps they won't want to return again. 

But no matter how bright the northern skies 

We'll miss the sparkle of their eyes; 

For even on this trip I always found 

Lots of sunshine when they were around! 

For Ruth Rosamond Haines. 

For all Alaskans the happiest hour is when they 

go Outside, 
And on this steamer many sourdoughs take that 

joyful ride. 
But to-day I met on deck a man who took careful 

pains 
To tell me that his happiest hour was when he 

met Ruth Rosamond Haines. 
He said, "If that's the kind of girls they have 

in Old Seattle, 
I'll nevermore return to live in this land where 

blizzards rattle." 
And I agreed with him that Ruth was good to 

see, 
And I'm sure that all the other passengers would 

say, "why so do we !" 



110 



TO A MAID FROM WYOMING 

They tell me that you're from Wyoming, 

The home of the deadly Sioux, 

Land of sage brush and alkali dust storms- 

Don't let them put it over on you ! 

Pull stakes and live in Alaska, 

The Land that's fabled for gold, 

And soon you will find you a husband 

Forever to have and to hold. 

He'll dress you in ermine and sable, 

The Land will thrill with it's charms, 

And your only troubles the little ones 

That you carry around in your arms ! 



Ill 



TO A COUPLE FROM FLORIDA 

Take us back, back, to the Swaunee River, 

This is too far to roam ! 
The Yukon marshes seem to make us shiver, 

They're not like the swamps down home. 

CHORUS 

All Alaska seems like zero 

Everywhere we go, 

And we want to see the alligators swimming 

Where the dreamy bayous flow ! 

Take them back, back to the Swaunee River, 

If they don't like Nome. 
There must be something weak about their liver 

And they shouldn't stray far from home! 

CHORUS 

Every time a sourdough leaves us 
To join the Outside pack, 
He imagines that his joy deceives us — 
But we know that he'll come back! 



112 



FOR A KENTUCKIAN 

The summers in Alaska indeed are very fine, 
With it's salmon-colored sunsets and it's days 
of long sunshine, 
And it rivals Old Kentucky, the dark and bloody 
ground, 
For it's where the finest brand of Moonshine 
is also to be found ! 



113 



FOR A NORTH CAROLINIAN 

Here's to the Land of the Long Leaf Pine, 
I lived there once, but I decline 
To live there again. Nor will I relate 
The things I know of the Old North State! 



114 



FOR A UNIVERSITY OF WASHINGTON 
STUDENT 

To youth, to Age, to all, let these lines tell 
What weaves the magic of Alaska's spell. 
Art thou a tourist? The thrill is here 
Where age-old glaciers climb the mountain tier! 
Art thou a youth anxious to fill thy coffer? 
Consider what Alaska has to offer. 
Where else are such splendid prospects known? 
Oil-lands, coal-lands, gold, find them and they're 

thy own! 
Nature, as if her treasures' worth to teach, 
Hid them only where the strong could reach! 



115 



TO THE ALASKA BUREAU OF PUBLICITY 

O Booster ! Thou dost well to esteem thy Alaska 
fair! 
Affection's fond hyperbole cannot exaggerate 
her rugged charm, 
Or the wealth of a thousand kings that lies hid- 
den in her bosom ! 
But take this from me : It is a crime 
To encourage settlers here to farm, 

While lands in another and gentler clime 
Are still unploughed and capable of blossom ! 

Let men of money in. Do not fear the Guggen- 
heims. 
Holding the whip hand of law, give Capital a 
fair rein. 
You will have more prosperous citizens and better 
times ; 
A whole army of more needed workers will 
come to remain, 
Prospectors, miners, loggers, oil-drilling crews, 
And soon Alaska will be a head-liner in the 
news. 



116 



New York, Jan. 1.— Such is the friendly feeling 
of Canada that a group of her citizens are build- 
ing a gigantic saloon on an island in the St. 
Lawrence river, a half-mile from the American 
Line for the benefit of New Yorkers desiring to 
view the sun through the bottom of a tumbler — 
(News Item.) 

Why can't this be done up in the Narrows? 



MEMORIES 

The days of yore will come no more, 
The days we used to spend our store, 

to buy a great big glass of suds 
We spend our little nest-egg now 
On socks and ties and sickly chow, 

And treat the dames to fancy duds. 
O Memories ! The joy, the fun, 
To gaze upon the smiling sun 

Through a sparkling amber glass ! 
The poet very truly said, 
"When dead you are a long time dead," 

And "Every joy must pass." 
But who would think that Prohibition 
Would ever be the sad condition, 

And make our days so dark and drear? 
And so I pipe this little lay, 
In memory of that joyful day, 

When we could get our beer! 



117 



IN THE WORDS OF 

JOSHUA ALEXANDER, 

SECRETARY OF THE INTERIOR 

(Speaking of Congressional appropriations for 

Alaska) 

Little licks and promises, 
Little "daubs of paint," 
Keep Miss Alaska guessing, 
Whether she is or ain't! 



118 



THE BALLAD OF JERRY FLYNN 

This is the tale that was told to me 
While crossing the waters of Bering Sea, 
By that gruff old mariner, Jerry Flynn, 
A truthful shipper every inch of him. 

* * * 

"Out in Bering Sea where the walrus dwells 

And the seals disport and play; 
Where the sperm whale dips in the rolling swells 

For the herring that spawn that way — 



"Where passing ships are very few 
And there's but little shelter found, 

I was wrecked in a gale and all my crew 
Were washed away and drowned. 



"It's brief to relate the tale of the storm, 

'Twas a roaring hurricane; 
In Bering Sea they quickly form 

And as quickly it calms again. 

"The barometer a warning gave 
And our little ship was staunch, 



119 



THE BALLAD OF JERRY FLYNN 

But still I feared the monstrous wave 
That a southeast blow could launch. 



"And so with hatches battened down 
I hove her to, with cargo snug and trim, 

But hardly had the ship swung 'round 
When the blow struck us full-limb ! 



"Then night came on and the fiendish roar 
Of the gale was like a battle's blasts, 

And with a cannon's sweep, like a thunderbolt, 
It carried away our masts ! 



"The ship began to break in twain 
And I watched my gallant crew 

Being washed away in the swirling main, 
And there was nothing that I could do! 



"When all was lost but the chance to go 

I hung to a cargo boom, 
And when I cast away from the "Derigo" 

I was sure I had met my doom ! 



"The waves leaped up and spattered me 
And slapped me in the face, 

And when one had done another came 
And hammered me in it's place. 



120 



THE BALLAD OF JERRY FLYNN 

"As I clung to that drifting spar 

I thought of my past life, 
As sinners do when death's not far 

And I thought of home and wife! 

"I watched a monstrous wave approach 

Like a rushing avalanche, 
I saw the seething sea rise up 

And felt my life's blood blanch ! 

"The white mass hissed, my mouth gulped full, 

Then I felt a burning pain, 
A floating spar had crashed my skull 

And darkened was my brain . . . ! 

* * * 

"Where am I? In the living world? 

Or in the world of dream? 
What are those shapes that swish and swirl, 

What are those lights that gleam? 

"A slimy thing touched my left hand 
Which was limp as a gunny sack, 

My fingers closed on gritty sand 
And my senses all came back ! 

"I opened wide my bulging eyes 

And glared into the haze, 
But were those eyes, real human eyes, 

That held my frightened gaze? 



121 



THE BALLAD OF JERRY FLYNN 

."A girl it was, a maiden fair, 

Lovely and fair as sin, 
And her eyes seemed to dance with mischief's 
glance 

As she looked at Jerry Flynn. 



"The deep sea fishes around us strayed, 

Behind us and before, 
As I glared and stared at the beautiful maid 

Upon the ocean floor. 



"Round her head a garland of pink sea shells 
Twined through hair of a golden hue, 

Her eyes had the depths of crystaline wells 
And of color a deep sea blue. 



"Her mouth was a dream of summertime 
When the sun paints the cherries red, 

Her lips open wide as if singing a rhyme 
To the foam-billows overhead. 



"Her cheeks aglow like a summer morn, 
Her throat was shapely and sweet, 

A golden girdle her waist did adorn, 
And then I looked at her feet ! 



Teet did I say? She had no feet— 
I doubted my brine-bleared eyes, 



122 



LLAD OF JERRY FLYNN 

e legs and trunk should meet 
H, of proper scale and size ! 



de was lifting me up 
t gave me a push, 
mermaid around the waist 
ame with a rush ! 



e surface off Nunivak 
ed sun set, 
as like a crazy quilt 
nd gold and jet. 



e beach with a steady stroke 

-maid in my grasp, 

be an envied bloke! 

^ht of my load made me gasp. 



ibed on a rocky ledge 
each of the tide, 
y ridge of the island's edge 
den aside. 



no life in the beautiful form 
lest she be dead, 
:o feel the mermaid's pulse— 
for what I said ! 



123 



THE BALLAD OF JERIT 

"A girl it was, a maiden fair, 

Lovely and fair as sin, 
And her eyes seemed to dance 
glance 

As she looked at Jerry Flynn. 



"The deep sea fishes around us s 

Behind us and before, 
As I glared and stared at the bea 

Upon the ocean floor. 



"Round her head a garland of pii 
Twined through hair of a golc 

Her eyes had the depths of crys 
And of color a deep sea blue. 

"Her mouth was a dream of sui 
When the sun paints the cher: 

Her lips open wide as if singing 
To the foam-billows overhead 



"Her cheeks aglow like a sumn 
Her throat was shapely and s 1 

A golden girdle her waist did ado 
And then I looked at her feet ! 

"Feet did I say? She had no fee 
I doubted my brine-bleared ey« 



122 



THE BALLAD OF JERRY FLYNN 

But from where legs and trunk should meet 
She was FISH, of proper scale and size! 



"But lo! the tide was lifting me up 
And a halibut gave me a push, 

I grabbed the mermaid around the waist 
And up we came with a rush ! 



"We rose to the surface off Nunivak 

Just as the red sun set, 
And the sky was like a crazy quilt 

In crimson and gold and jet. 



"I swam for the beach with a steady stroke 
With the sea-maid in my grasp, 

Oh ! I would be an envied bloke ! 

And the weight of my load made me gasp, 



"Soon up I climbed on a rocky ledge 
Beyond the reach of the tide, 

And on a grassy ridge of the island's edge 
I lay my burden aside. 



"There seemed no life in the beautiful form 

And I feared lest she be dead, 
And I stooped to feel the mermaid's pulse— 

And I blush for what I said ! 



123 



THE BALLAD OF JERRY FLYNN 



"Shiver my timbers ! but she looked real ! 

Just an old wood FIGUREHEAD! 
My fingers were numb, so I couldn't feel 

That the scale of her tail was lead ! 

* * * 

"The Islanders fed me and made me warm, 
And a Cutter picked me up in the Spring, 

But I often think of that terrible storm 
And the image painted like the real thing! 



124 



STATEHOOD FOR ALASKA 

It is your Flag and my Flag, the banner we 

revere, 
We fought for it, some died for it, in the battles 

Over There. 
And yet Alaska, our Alaska, that is so loyal and 

true, 
Has no star among Old Glory's stars representing 

me and you. 

It is your Flag and my Flag, the Red, the White, 

and Blue, 
We love it's every star and bar, we love its 

three-fold hue, 
It stands for Truth and Liberty, for Justice 

and for Right, 
And we want Alaska's star among the stars that 

shed such light. 

It is your Flag and my Flag, proudly it waves 
today, 

We have done our part to shield it in the mael- 
strom of the fray, 

Oh, Alaska well deserves it and I'm sure Uncle 
Sam will hear 

When we ask him to allow our star in Old Glory 
to appear. 



125 



STATEHOOD FOR ALASKA 

It is your Flag and my Flag, emblem of the free, 

It's stars are meant to symbolize the strength of 
Unity, 

And Alaska wants the world to know without 

pretense or sham 
That when Freedom is endangered her star stands 

with Uncle Sam. 

Alaska, Our Alaska, so rich, so broad, so fine, 

How long, oh brother Northmen, before our star 
shall shine? 

Of all the Lands on God's green earth there is 
no land more fair, 

Oh, let us be up and doing and demand our star 
be there ! 



126 



WHEN ALASKA'S STAR IS SET AMONG 
THE STARS THAT DECK THE FLAG 

We are done with Conservation of the 

Gifford Pinchot brand, 
That would lock up the resources of this great 
and bounteous land. 

We are done with pretty theories that sound well 

in debate; 
But in practice do not foster the advancement of 

the State. 
We are done with petty bickerings ; the War has 

been the Flood 

That has purged us of all jealousy and the art of 
slinging mud. 

Today we are a people in a land of peace and 
destiny, 

And it's time to start the planning of what that 
land shall be. 

There must be no selfish motives in the task we 
have at hand, 

Our only thought the betterment and develop- 
ment of The Land. 

And the fetters that now bind us, tied by those 
seeking power and pelf 

Shall be broken by the toilers sharing in the 
work and wealth. 



127 



WHEN ALASKA'S STAR IS SET AMONG 
THE STARS THAT DECK THE FLAG 

Our party men now clearly see how futile is 
mere talk, 

We have been arguing long enough, now at deeds 
we must not balk. 

We must do our separate duty to the Land of 
Do and Dare 

If we ever hope to see its star in the galaxy we 

revere. 
We must all work together and none }of us 

should lag 
If Alaska is to be among the stars that deck the 

Flag. 

It's a big job we have tackled, and it calls for 
faith and grit, 

But we're not the kind that grumble and we're 
not the kind that quit. 

We'll build an empire in the North, we'll build 
it mile by mile 

O'er mountain, vale and plain and lake, and while 
we build we'll smile, 

For we'll work as men and women work when 
building of their home 

With thoughts of the dim future and the off- 
spring that will come. 

Oh not for us the easy ways, our task is long 
and tough, 



128 



WHEN ALASKA'S STAR IS SET AMONG 
THE STARS THAT DECK THE FLAG 

The country here is strange to us and most of 

it is rough. 
But we have the will to conquer and we'll make 

Alaska great 
If Uncle Sam will say the word that will make 

our land a State. 
Oh we know that we'll be proud that day and 

Uncle Sam will brag 
When Alaska's star is set among the stars that 

deck the Flag! 



129 



O ! STAR OF ALASKA 

O! Star of Alaska, 

Somewhere up there in Space, 

Would we could find thee 

And gaze on thy face ! 

Every State in our Union 

Has a star in our Flag, 

But Alaska today 

Has no star to brag. 

And we feel it quite keenly, 

With some desperation, 

That we have no star 

In that Constellation. 

But we know thou art twinkling 

Somewhere up there, too, 

And we want thy light shining 

From the Red, White and Blue! 

Swing into our vision, 

Oh, Star of the North, 

And let Uncle Sam know 

Thy glory and worth ! 

Oh, we of the Northland 

Have faith in thy brilliance 

Though our Uncle is skeptical 

Of thy very existence ! 

The astronomers have measured 

The star Betelgeuse's girth, 

(Perhaps thou art Betelgeuse? 

Alaska covers half of the earth !) 



130 



O ! STAR OF ALASKA 



And they find that it's size 

Is most beyond calculation, 

While our eyes are barely able 

To detect it's location. 

Alaska, likewise, is a huge, 

Far distant land, 

And it is hard for those 

At Washington to understand 

That it is ready for Statehood, 

And, like the star Betelgeuse, 

Is as big as creation 

And as rich as the deuce! 

Statesmen are blinded, 

Oh, Star of our Hopes, 

Without proper lenses, 

Just like telescopes. 

Oh, let thy light reach them 

At a not far distant day, 

Though thy rays be somewhat bent, 

After the Einstein way. 

Oh, we pray that a lens 

May be made for their eyes, 

That when they lift them upward 

To the northern skies, 

They will find you there, 

And we're sure you won't lag 

When they summon you to take 

Your place in the Flag! 



131 



APPRECIATION 

Ye that have dwelt in the Land 

North of Fifty-Three, 
Spending thy manhood and strength 

Solving it's mystery — 

Ye that have blazed the trails, 
Spanning the canyons and creeks, 

Preparing the bed for the rails, 
Tunnelling the mammoth peaks — 

Ye who never sti*uck pay, though the first, 
Who never struck anything since, 

Suffering a hell on earth 

While dreaming to be rich as a prince — 

Digging thy bread and thy salt 
By the livid sweat of thy brow — 

What thought ye of Alaska then, 
What, may I ask, think ye now? 

Saw ye of beauty there, 

Bent to the task at hand? 
Climbed ye the golden stair 

Whence poets envision the Land? 

Hark ye, then, to my song, 

ye intrepid band. 
Others glean fruits of thy toil, 

Let them your soul understand! 



132 



APPRECIATION 



Beauties of land and sea 

Are not for the Yukon thrall, 
In dreams alone do they glimpse 

The magic God meant for all! 

Though ye shun and curse the Land, 
Others come and bless it's name; 

On the Day of the Last Stampede, please God, 
May the Angel record your claim! 



133 



GLOSSARY 

Cheechako — A newcomer who has not yet spent 
a full winter north of Fifty-three. 

Flats — River bottom lands. The central meadow 
lands of the Yukon River basin where sand 
bars are frequent in the river bed. 

Hootch — Any intoxicating liquor, especially 
whiskey. 

Klooch — Native Indian woman. 

Kow-kow — Food. 

Malamute — An Alaskan dog of native stock. 

Muk-luk — Native foot-wear. 

Mush — To travel on foot over the Northern trails. 
As a command to the dogs, "Go on !" "Go 
away !" 

Outside — An Alaskan colloquialism. An Alaskan 
refers to a journey to the States as "going 
Outside." Coast residents of Alaska refer 
to the interior of the country as "Inside." 

Peluk — All gone. No more. 

Pee-O-quah — Native dialect of Yukon River In- 
dians meaning good-bye. 

Ptarmigan — A northern game bird. 

Siwash — Native Indian. 

Sourdough — One who has seen the ice come and 

go- 
Tundra — Boggy meadow land. 



134 



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